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THE 


OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE; 


OR, 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  AN  IRISH  BOROUGH. 


By    MRS.    J.    SADLIER, 

AUTHOEESSOF    '•  DLAKES   AND   FLANAGANS  ;"    "  WIM.IK   BURKE}"    «'  > 
LIGHTS  ;"    "  THE  CONFEDERATE  CHIEFTAINS  ;"    "EMNOB  FBKSTON 
"BESSY  CONWAY  '"  "THE  OONFEBBIOBW  OF  AN  APOSTATE  ;"  "CON 
O'REGAN   ;"    "OLD  AND  NEW  \"  "THE  HKKMIT  OF  THE  ROCK." 


NEW  YORK: 

P.    J.    KENEDY, 

EXCELSIOR    CATHOLIC  PUBLISHING  HOUSE, 

5  Barclay  St. 

1899. 


DA 
,S3x 


Copyright, 

D.  A  J.  SADLIER  &  CO. 

1885. 


BOSTOH  COLLEGE  LIBRARY 
O^WT  HIU.  MA  02W 


■CE8  0 


?         y 


DEDICATION 


To  those  of  my  many  Drogheda  friends  whom 
the  reaper  Death,  and  the  vicissitudes  of  fifty 
years  have  left  remaining-  amid  the  historic  scenes 
I  have  here  faintly  sketched— and  also  to  the  me- 
mory of  those  others  who  have  long  since  passed  to 
the  unseen  world— in  token  of  my  undying  remem- 
brance of  the  pleasant  days,  and  weeks,  and  months 
spent  amongst  them  in  the  sunny  years  of  my  life's 
spring-time,  these  few  "Reminiscences"  of  their 
ancient  and  honored  borough  are  cordially  and 
gratefully  dedicated. 

M.  A.  Sadliek. 


THE  OLD  HOUSE   BY  THE  BOYNE; 


OR, 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  AN  LUSH  BOROUGH. 


CHAPTER  I. 


Let  people  say  what  they  will  of  modern  improve- 
ments, and  the  advantages  of  modern  progress,  there 
are  few  amongst  us  who  do  not  love  to  contemplate 
the  relics  of  past  ages,  monuments  of  a  time,  or  times 
long  anterior  to  the  rise  of  "  modern  progress,"  and 
boasting  none  of  the  "  modern  improvements."  Few 
American-born  readers  can  realize  to  themselves  the 
antique  character  of  an  old  European  town  dating 
from  the  medieval  times,  the  quaint,  queer,  yet  simple 
and  substantial  edifices  of  the  older  parts  contrasting 
oddly  with  the  newer  and  more  ornamentative  portions, 
the  growth  of  later  years.  Comparatively  few  of 
these  old  fortified  boroughs  are  now  to  be  seen  in  the 
British  islands,  at  least,  in  anything  like  their  original 
aspect.  Of  those  which  still  arrest  the  traveller's  at- 
tention in  journeying  through  Ireland,  one  of  the  old- 


10  THE  OLD  UOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

est  and  quaintest  of  the  ancient  "  walled  towns    is 
undoubtedly  Drogheda,  for  more  ages  than  history 
cares  to  count  a  place  of  foreign  and  domestic  import- 
ance, and  now  favorably  known  amongst  Irish  sea- 
ports as  a  commercial  and  manufacturing  town  se 
cond  to  none  of  its  size  in  the  kingdom.     Situated  on 
the  £>Gyne  River,  biU  two  or  three  miles  from  the 
Irish  Sea,  partly  in  Louth  and  partly  in  Meath,  two 
of  the  richest  and  most  fertile  counties  in  Ireland, 
Drogheda  enjoys  to-day  as  great  advantages  for  trade 
and  commerce  as  of  old  it  did  for  the  maritime  de- 
fence of  the  surrounding  district.      Of  the  strong 
walls  and  fortifications  that  once  encompassed  the  old 
borough  little  now  remains,  but  that  little  serves  to 
show  how  well  the  stout  burghers  of  Drogheda  (or 
Trcdagkj  as  it  was  anciently  called)  knew  how  to 
protect  their  hearths  and  homes.     Detached  portions 
of  the  walls  are  still  to  be  seen  here  and  there,  espe- 
cially in  the  neighborhood  of  St.  Mary's  Church  in 
the  south-eastern  part  of  the  town,  where  within  the 
limits   of  the   ancient  graveyard   a   strong    bastion 
speaks  to  the  new  generation  of  the  days  when  Crom- 
well's cannon  thundered  on  the  adjoining  walls,  and 
there  made  the  breach  (still  shown)  by  which  that 
mo!;ster  of  cruelty  poured  his  iron-hearted  psalm- 
feingers  into   the   town   to  butcher   the    inhabitants 
without  mercy.     Then  looking  eastward  towards  the 
sea,  on  the  highest  ground  north  of  the  river,  rises 
still   in  formidable   strength,  with  its  two  flanking 
towers,  St  Lawrence's  Gate,  looking  down  in  gloomy 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  11 

grandeu:*  over  the  steep  and  narrow  street  whicn 
bears  its  name,  guarding  the  approach  to  the  Tholsel 
ur  Town  Hall,  which  stands  near  the  junction  of 
Lawrence  street  and  West  street  with  Shop  street 
and  Peter  street;  the  latter  two  forming  the  line 
from  the  bridge  to  the  North  Barracks  and  St.  Peter's 
Church,  ever  memorable  as  the  scene  of  the  burning 
of  over  two  thousand  of  the  first  citizens  of  Drogh- 
eda  (who  had  taken  shelter  within  it)  by  order  of 
Oliver  Cromwell.  The  West  Gate  at  the  opposite 
extremity  of  the  town  has  all  but  disappeared  in  the 
lapse  of  time,  and  so,  too,  with  Sunday  Gate,  the 
northern  approach  to  the  old  borough  in  the  days  of 
its  primeval  strength. 

Here  and  there  within  the  ancient  boundaries  may 
still  be  seen  the  remains  of  many  civil^  ecclesiastical 
and  monastic  buildings  of  the  old  time,  such  as  Mary'g 
Abbey,  a  Carmelite  foundation  near  the  modern 
church  of  that  name  already  mentioned,  appropriated 
to  Protestant  worship, — M  ^gdalen's  Steeple,  the  time- 
honored  remains  of  a  stately  Dominican  Church,  of 
old  connected  with  an  Abbey  of  the  same  order. 
Then,  just  within  the  West  Gate,  stand  the  ruins  cf 
an  old  Observantine  friary,  called  "The  Old  Abbey." 
The  dilapidated  remains  of  the  Grey  Friary  form  a 
picturesque  object  on  the  high  ground  in  the  north- 
eastern part  of  the  town,  and  on  the  south  side,  but 
a  short  distance  from  the  river,  some  faint  traces  may 
still  be  seen  of  what  was  once  a  Priory  and  Hospital 
of  the  Knights  of  St.  John.     Other  relics  of  the  mon 


12  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

astic  institutions  of  long-past  ages  are  still  to  be  seen 
in  various  parts  of  the  town,  but  in  a  state  of  such 
utter  dilapidation  as  only  to  be  distinguished  on  a 
near  approach.  One  of  these  is  the  old  friary  of  St 
Lawrence,  a  little  way  outside  Lawrence's  Gate,  sur  . 
rounded  by  a  very  ancient  burying-ground  called 
"The  Cord" — a  singular  designation,  the  origin  of 
which  is  now  lost  in  the  night  of  time.* 

The  Tholsel  itself,  a  gloomy,  dark-faced  building, 
situate  in  West  street,  near  the  corner  of  Shop  street, 
is  a  curious,  but  by  no  means  attractive  specimen  of 
the  civil  architecture  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  no  one 
can  look  on  its  massive  stone  walls, and  deeply-set  win- 
dows, without  reverting  in  thought  to  the  stormy 
strife  of  those  by-past  times,  and  the  sturdy  burgesses 
who  of  old  assembled  for  "  law  and  justice"  within  its 
walls. 

Antiquity  is,  indeed,  stamped  on  the  town  and  all 
around  it,  but  there  is  scarcely  any  local. ty,  any  nook 
or  corner  within  or  without  the  walls  where  modern 
buildings,  civil,  military,  commeicial  and  ecclesiasti- 
cal, are  not  to  be  seen  rising  up  in  strange  contrast  to 
the  hoary  monuments  around  them,  striking  illustra- 

*  One  of  our  earliest  recollections  of  Drogheda  was  the  peril- 
ous ascent,  from  an  adjoining  tombstone,  of  the  jagged  frag- 
ment of  wall  which  alone  remains  of  the  old  friary,  in  order  to 
procure  a  b>anch  of  the  ivy  that  festoons  its  top,  to  bear  back 
in  triumph  to  our  home  away  north  in  "  green  vallied  Brpffhy,'; 
as  a  momento  of  our  first  visit  to  the  old  historic  borough, 
Tlio  sunshine  was  bright  that  summer  morning,  clothing  even 
the  old  gray  ruin  and  its  ivy  crown  with  solemn  beauty. 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOVNE.  13 

ti  «ss,  one  and  the  other,  of  the  busy,  active,  progres- 
sive Present,  anil  the  calm,  sluggish,  stern,  mysterious 
Past.  So  to-day,  and  even  twenty  years  ago,  when 
last  we  looked  on  the  well-remembered  scene,  the 
banks  of  the  Boyne,  whore  it  threads  its  way  between 
two  counties,  through  the  heart  of  Drogheda,  were 
thickly  studded  with  spinning-mills,  corn-mills,  and  all 
the  other  huge  fabrics  in  which  modern  progress  has 
encased  the  complicated  machinery  that  does  her 
mighty  will  in  catering  for  man's  use  and  comfort, 
Barracks  of  spacious  dimensions  adorn  the  northern 
and  southern  extremities  of  the  town;  the  northern 
;ii  the  head  of  Peter  street  as  already  indicated,  the 
southern  on  the  lofty  eminence  known  as  Mill-Mount, 
commanding  from  a  massive  circular  tower  on  the 
fort,  a  magnificent  view  of  the  river,  the  town,  and  the 
adjoining  country,  rich  in  Irish  fertility.  Through  all 
this  motley  assemblage  oftheoldand  the  new,  the  civil, 
the  military,  the  secular,  and  the  ecclesiastical,  flows 
on  the  silvery  Boyne,  dividing  the  northern  from  the 
southern  portions  of  "  the  County  of  the  Town 
of  Drogheda,"  as  the  old  records  have  it,  and  as  the 
natives  of  the  place  are  still  proud  to  call  it.  Fraught 
with  a  thousand  historic  associations,  and  a  wealth  of 
poetry  all  its  own,  the  beautiful  "bride  of  Lough 
Raiuor"  winds  her  way  through  the  heart  of  the  old 
borough  to  swell  the  waters  of  the  Irish  Sea  over  thti 
white  strand  of  Bettystown  and  Mornington. 

The  town  of  Drogheda  is  decidedly  an  old  town, 
and  all  is  old  about  it.     Its  people  are  old — old  in 


14  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

their  lineage,  to  a  great  extent  Norman, — and  old  in 
their  contempt  for  what  is  new  and  showy,  and  pre- 
tentious. Passing  through  the  streets,  you  will  re- 
cognize above  the  shop-doors,  and  on  door-plates,  the 
names  of  the  knightly  Norman  famil.es  >\ho  were 
actors  in  the  earliest  authentic  history  of  Drogheda — 
the  De  Verdons  (minus  only  the  ih ),  the  Gernons,  the 
Pentlands,  the  Whites,  the  Dardises,  the  Faulkneis, 
the  Simcocks,  and  many  other  ancient  families  are  still 
represented  in  the  old  borough,  and  the  Norman  is 
still  the  staple  and  dominant  element  in  the  popula- 
tion. Then,  again,  the  simple,  old-time  faith  of  the 
townspeople  has  happily  lost  none  of  its  positive, 
straightforward  Catholicity,  and  Drogheda,  the  Gate 
of  the  North,  is  to-day  what  it  has  been  ever  since 
the  Reformation  crossed  the  Channel,  one  of  the  most 
thoroughly  Catholic  towns  in  Ireland.  When  the 
ceremonies  of  religion  were  proscribed  by  law  in  the 
northern  province,  and  the  poverty  to  which  Ulster 
Catholics  were  reduced  left  them  only  thatched  cabins 
wherein  to  worship  God,  the  ritual  of  the  Church  was 
still  carried  out  within  the  walls  of  Drogheda,  and 
thither,  as  on  pilgrimag  \  went  the  northern  Catho- 
lics, year  by  year  at  Paschal  time,  to  witness  the  reli- 
gions solemnities  they  might  never  see  at  home, 
Drogheda  was  in  those  days,  even  but  two  genera- 
tions back,  the  Home  of  Ulster,  and  happy  were  they 
who  from  Cavan,  Monaghan,  Fermanagh,  or  Armagh, 
could  go  to  spend  Holy  Week  in  Drogheda.  There 
the  r^l'^i^us  communities  always  maintained   thep 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BGYNB,  13 

ground,  and  even  now  the  old  borough  has  a  sort  of 
monastic  character  shared  by  few  in  Ireland,  and  by 
none  north  of  itself. 

Though  stripped  of  the  wealth  and  power  they 
once  enjoyed,  and  thrown  for  support  on  the  charity 
and  piety  of  the  townspeople,  the  Franciscans,  the 
Dominicans,  and  the  Augustinians  still  haunted  the 
vicinity  of  their  ancient  Abbeys  in  and  around  the 
borough,  assisting  the  secular  clergy  in  ministering 
to  the  spiritual  wants  of  the  people,  and  in  return  for 
the  shelter  and  protection  afforded  them,  within  the 
strong  old  town,  and  the  pious  offerings  of  the  faith- 
ful which  supplied  their  humble  wants,  "  the  friars" 
gave  their  benison  to  the  place,  and  whilst  edifying 
the  people  by  their  simple  and  useful  lives  and  the 
practice  of  all  virtue,  they  perpetuated  amongst  them 
tli.it  spirit  of  piety,  and  (hose  genuine  Catholic  in- 
stincts which  made  Drogheda  the  good  old  Catholic 
town  that  we  have  described  it. 

Amongst  such  a  people,  and  in  such  a  place,  it  may 
well  be  supposed  that  old  social  customs,  too,  would 
survive  the  lapse  of  time,  in  defiance  of  modern  in- 
novation. Such  is  really  the  case,  and,  perhaps, 
with  the  single  exception  of  Gal  way,  no  other  city  or 
town  in  Ireland  retains  so  many  of  the  old-time  cus- 
toms, or  so  much  of  the  good  old  cheerful  spirit  in 
which  they  had  their  origin.  With  some  of  these 
peculiarities  the  reader  will  make  acquaintance  in  the 
course  of  our  simple  story,  to  which  we  must  now 
address    ourselves,  having  sufficiently  (as  we   hope) 


16  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

indicated  the   manner  of   place  where  its  scene  ia 
Laid. 

Some  fifty  years  ago  thero  stood  (and  may  still, 
for  aught  we  know)  on  the  steep  shoie  of  the  Boyne, 
just  over  the  Bettystown  road  which  vinds  close  hy 
the  river  side,  an  old  gray  house  whose  venerable 
front  was  thinly  shaded  by  a  few  spreading  trees? 
chiefly  ash  and  sycamore,  whose  growth  appeared  to 
have  been  coeval  with  the  house  itself,  judging  by 
their  brown  gnarled  branches  and  the  grotesque 
forms  their  trunks  had  assumed  in  the  lapse  of  years. 
A  long  flight  of  narr  >w  stone  steps  led  from  the  low 
porch  with  its  two  rustic  benches  to  the  road  and  the 
river,  by  a  wicket  gate  opening  on  the  green  margined 
footpath  that  skirts  "the  dusty  highway."  A  some- 
what dilapidated  stone  wall  ran  along  the  base  of  the 
almost  precipitous  slope  in  front  of  the  house,  and  a 
sort  of  straggling  fence  of  flowering  shrubs  ran  up  the 
steep  ascent  in  parallel  lines  on  either  side  the  steps. 
Here  and  there  from  amid  the  sparse  herbage  rose  a 
stunted  white-thorn,  a  prickly  furze,  or  a  laurel — the 
shining  green  of  the  latter  contrasting  well  in  sum- 
mer's brief  day  with  the  delicate  white  blossoms  of 
the  one  and  the  rich  yellow  of  the  other,  and  in  win- 
ter giving  life  to  the  bleak  hill  side  where  only  the 
hardy  evergreen  could  live.  The  house  that  crowned 
the  steep  was  as  old  and  as  weather-beaten  as  house 
could  be,  and  be  inhabited  with  comfort.  It  consisted 
of  two  stories,  surmounted  by  a  high  pitched  roof  of 
elates,  which  might,  from  their  appearance,  have  dated 


THE    OLD    nOUSE    BY   TIIE    BOYNE.  17 

from  that  very  indefinite  period  "  the  Wars  of  Ire- 
land," yet  whole  and  sound  withal,  as  though  neglect, 
at  least,  had  not  aided  the  work  of  time  in  defacing  and 
disfiguring  the  old  fabric.  The  windows  were  few 
high,  and  narrow,  with  the  quaintest  of  old  archi- 
traves, and  leaden  casements  with  small  lozenge-shaped 
panes  that  seemed  as  if  meant  to  exclude  as  much  of 
the  sunlight  as  possible  from  the  interior  of  the  man- 
sion— for  mansion  it  was,  though  not  a  large  one. 
The  hall-door  was  of  dark  oak  curiously  panelled. 
and,  like  the  windows,  deeply  set  in  the  massive  stone 
wall.  It  was  a  gloomy  dwelling,  as  one  would  say  on 
a  first  glance,  and  yet  there  was  that  about  it  which 
invited  a  closer  examination,  and  suggested  a  certain 
degree  of  curiosity  as  to  who  might  be  its  inmates. 
People  are  apt  to  associate  mystery  and  romance 
with  old  houses, Mf  only  they  look  like  having  "a 
history,"  and  this  one  did,  though  the  building  and 
all  about  it  had  little  claim  to  beauty,  and  not  much 
to  t  iste  or  elegance.  Sombre  and  somewhat  stately, 
it  looked,  in  its  dark  decay,  like  what  it  was,  the  an- 
cestral home  of  a  family  that  had  once  held  high  place 
amonist  the  old  Norman  settlers  on  the  Boyne  side, 
impoverished  now  and  of  small  account  amongst  tho 
thriving,  money-making  burghers  of  the  new  age, 

It  is  late  autumn;  the  short  day  is  drawing  to  a 
close,  and  the  lights  are  coming  out  in  the  town  and 
along  the  river,  the  wind  is  blowing  from  the  sea, 
and  dark  masses  of  clouds  are  drifting  over  the  firma- 
ment, whose  blue  is  still  seen  at  intervals  far  up  in  the 


18  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    B0YNE. 

eenith.  Dim  through  the  gray  light  that  was  fast 
changing  into  darkness,  might  be  seen  a  solitary  female 
figure  ascending  the  steps  to  our  old  house,  with  the 
quick  elastic  foot  of  youth,  her  figure  wrapped  in  a 
gray  cloak,  the  hood  of  which  was  thrown  over  her 
head  and  drawn  closely  around  her  face.  Reaching 
the  door,  she  paused  a  moment,  as  though  arranging 
something  in  her  mind,  then  raised  her  hand  to  the 
grim  black  knocker  representing  a  grotesque  human 
face,  and  knocked  as  one  who  should  be  speedily  admit- 
ted, smiling  at  some  quaint  conceit  as  the  sound  re- 
verberated in  hollow  echoes  through  the  old  man- 
sion. 

"  Thank  God !"  said,  in  a  subdued  voice,  the  old 
woman,  who,  with  candle  in  hand,  came  to  the  door. 
"  Thank  God  you're  come  back  safe,  Miss  Rose  I 
Dear  me  !  if  there  isn't  the  candle  gone  out !" 

"  Safe  !  why  should  I  not  come  back  safe  ?  What 
did  you  suppose  was  going  lo  happen  to  me?" 

"  Oh  !  then,  it's  hard  to  say,  Miss,  hard  to  say  !  it's  ill 
walkin'  at  nightfall  out  of  doors,  and  Baltray  is  a  wild 
place,  at  the  best.  But  wait  a  minute,  Miss,  till  I  go 
and  light  the  candle." 

A  merry  laugh  was  the  lady's  answer  as  she  tripped 
along  the  flagged  hall,  and  opened  a  door  at  the  fur- 
ther  end,  from  which  a  warm  cheerful  glow  streamed 
out  for  a  moment  on  the  dark  walls. 

"  The  Lord  save  us !"  muttered  old  Nancy,  as  she 
groped  her  way  through  a  smaller  passage  branching 
(?ff  from  the  hall  to  the  rear  portion  of  the  building, 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNB.  19 

*  long  as  I'm  in  the  place,  I  never  can  get  over  tha 
fear  of  it.  An'  to  see  Miss  Rose  there,  how  little  sli9 
minds  it.     Dark  an'  light,  night  an'  day,  all's  one  to 

her !" 

The  room  that  Rose  Ackland  entered  was  a  sort 
of  parlor,  large,  though  not  lofty,  and  scantly,  but  com- 
fortably furnished  ;  the  furniture  being  of  that  anti- 
quated style  which  might  be  expected  in  such  a 
place,  some  of  it  showing  but  too  plainly  the  many, 
many  years  it  had  been  in  use.  There  was  no  carpet 
on  the  dark  oaken  floor,  with  the  exception  of  a  piece 
some  eight  or  ten  feet  square  in  front  of  the  wide, 
grateless  fireplace,  in  which  some  logs  of  wood  were 
burning  on  brazen  dogs,  shedding  that  ruddy  glow 
over  the  nearer  parts  of  the  old  room  which  painters 
love  to  catch  in  their  home-pictures.  There  was  no 
other  light  in  the  room.  Two  persons  sat  by  the 
fire;  one  a  gentleman  advanced  in  years,  the  other  a 
lady  many  years  younger,  yet  no  longer  young,  whose 
pale,  subdued  features  looked  wan  in  the  firelight, 
yet  fair  and  sweet  withal.  Her  eyes  were  on  her 
knitting,  but  not  her  thoughts,  and  every  mome  t 
the  shadow  was  growing  deeper  on  her  brow,  when 
Rose's  entrance  dispelled  the  cloud  and  drew  an  ex- 
clamation of  pleasure  even  from  the  silent  old  man 
whose  look  had  been  moodily  fixed  on  the  flickering 
blaze  before  him.  A  large,  portly  looking  cat  which 
had  been  dozing  in  luxurious  ease  on  the  arm  of  hia 
chair  roused  herself,  too,  and  bounded  from  her  perch 
to  welcome  the  new  arrival. 


20  THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

"  How  long  you  staid,  Rose  !"  said  the  elder  lady  re* 
proachfully ;  "  we  began  to  fear  that  something  must 
be  wronsr,  and  I  could  se  ircely  persuade  your  grand- 
papa from  going  to  .meet  you.  Indeed,  my  child,  you 
ought  to  be  more  careful !" 

"  Careful,  Aunt  Lydia  !  careful  of  what  ?"  said  Rose^ 
as,  having  kissed  her  grandfather,  and  laid  aside  her' 
cloak  and  bonnet,  she  sat  down  by  her  matronly 
aunt,  and  stooped  to  fondle  the  dignified  tabby  who 
was  rubbing  against  her  skirts,  pairing  her  welcome 
home. 

"  Why,  careful  of  your  life, — of  your  health,  my 
dear, — not  to  speak  of  propriety/' 

"  No  nerd  to  speak  of  propriety,  I  should  hope,  my 
sage  aunt !"  and  Rose's  dark  eyes  twinkled  mirth, 
fully.  "They  are  all  very  proper  people  ac  Baltray- 
and  I  hope  you  consider  me  both  proper  and  sedate.' 
She  tried  hard  to  look  sedate,  at  which  her  aunt 
smiled,  and  tapped  her  cheek,  whilst  her  grandfather 
laughed,  a  low,  quiet  laugh  peculiar  to  himself. 

"  You  may  as  well  let  her  alone,  Lydia ;  you  see 
she  grows  wilder  and  more  wilful  as  she  grows  older. 
But  what  news  from  Baltray,  Rosey  ?  How  did  you 
find  old  Mabel  ?" 

"  Much  better  in  body,  grandpa,  but  sorely  troubled 
in  mind." 

"  Indeed  ?  why,  what's  the  matter  with  her  ?" 

"  Anything  wrong  with  Barney  ?" 

''•  No,  aunt,  Barney  is  doing  very  well,  indeed. 
But  you  will  laugh  when  you  hear  the  cause  of  Mabel's 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOTNE.  21 

trouble.  She  has  "been  dreaming  of  late  about  us 
here,  anil  is  quite  sure  that  something  is  going  to 
happen.  She  bid  me  tell  you,  aunt,  in  particular,  that 
she  heard  the  Banshee  keening  every  night  for  the  last 
three—-" 

"Non-ense,  Rosey  !"  said  Miss  Ackland,  lowering 
her  voice  with  an  anxious  look  at  her  father,  who  was 
somswhat  deaf,  "how  can  you  rattle  on  so  ? — I  won- 
der at  you  to  repeat  such  silly  stuff." 

"  Well,  but,  aunt!  she  told  me  to  tell  you,  and  Ira 
sure  I  didn't  think  it  was  any  harm.  And  she  gave 
me  another  message  for  you,1'  she  added,  pouting, 
"  but  I  suppose  I  must  not  tell  it." 

The  aunt  smiled,  a  shade  of  something  like  curios- 
ity appearing  on  her  calm  face.  "  You  may  as  well 
finish  when  once  you  began,  only  speak  lower.  What 
was  Mabel's  other  message  for  me  ?" 

"  That  last  nig'it,  as  she  lay  between  sleeping  and 
waking,  one  that  you  used  to  know  came  and  stood 
beside  her  bed,  and  a  smile  on  his  face  for  all  the 
world  as  if  he  was  alive  and  well." 

"  Child,  child,  what  have  you  been  saying?"  cried 
the  old  man,  pointing  to  his  daughter,  and  Rose,  turn- 
ing quickly,  saw  that  her  aunt  had  fallen  back  in  her 
chair  pale  and  trembling.  Rose,  in  great  trepidation, 
began  to  apologize,  but  her  aunt,  recovering  her  com- 
posure, rose  with  a  forced  smile,  and  saying  it  was  al- 
most time  for  tea,  kissed  the  rosy  cheek  of  the  won- 
dering girl,  and  left  the  room.  In  vain  did  Rose 
look  to  her  grandfather  for  explanation ;  he  had  fallen 


22  THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  30YNE. 

into  one  of  his  musing  fits,  and  seemed  wholly  uncon« 
scions  of  her  presence.  There  was  a  comical  look  of 
bewilderment  on  Rose's  face,  as  she  stood  gazing  on 
the  door  by  which  her  aunt  had  retreated.  "Mes- 
sage, indeed!'  said  she,  half  aloud,  "well,  I'm  sure 
Mabel  may  deliver  her  own  messages  for  me,  for  the 
time  to  come  !  But,  deai  me  !  who'd  have  thought 
that  my  stately  Aunt  Lydia  should  be  so  overoome  by 
the.  'silly  stuff'  she  blamed  poor  me  for  repeating! 
Well !  miracles  will  never  cease  !" 

When  the  little  family  met  at  tea  half  an  hour 
later,  there  was  not  a  trace  of  emotion  on  Miss  Ack- 
land's  lace ;  a  shade  paler  than  her  wont  she  might 
have  been,  but  her  manner  was  just  the  same  as  usual, 
calm,  self-possessed,  and  what  some  might  consider, 
cold — the  very  opposite  of  Rose's  bright,  gushing, 
superabundant  vivacity.  Rose,  with  her  black  eyes 
round,  full,  sparkling,  her  rosy  cheeks,  and  wavy 
brown  hair,  her  rounded  girlish  figure,  somewhat  in- 
clining to  the  "  plump,''  and  the  careless  buoyancy  of 
spirit  which  defied  all  rules  of  conventional  manner- 
ism, was  the  very  personification  of  life's  blithe  spring- 
time, whilst  her  aunt,  tall,  shapely,  dignified,  though 
rather  handsome  not  particularly  so,  and  sad-browed 
withal,  was  like  autumn, — early  autumn, — her  smile, 
when  she  did  smile,  bright  and  cheering  as  the  sun 
that  lights?  October  woods  and  makes  a  glory  of  their 
gorgeous  beauty.  As  for  the  old  gentleman,  the 
father  of  one  and  the  grandfather  of  the  other,  ha 
seemed  to  have  reached  that,  perhaps,  enviable  stage 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BQYNE.  23 

of  existence  when  life's  cares  are  but  half  felt,  and 
life's  pleasures  but  half  enjoyed — the  dimness  of  age 
was  settling  down  on  his  senses,  and  although  his 
face,  once  strikingly  handsome,  still  retained  traces 
of  superior  intelligence,  and  his  tall  figure  had  lost 
but  little  of  its  original  height,  Mr.  Ackland  looked 
the  old  man  he  was,  with  the  weight  of  threescore 
years  and  ten  bowing  down  his  once  stalwart  frame. 
His  long  hair,  "  sil  ver'd  o'er  with  age,"  and  parted  in  the 
middle,  hung  down  on  either  side  his  head,  giving  to 
his  strongly-marked  Norman  features  that  venerable 
aspect  so  becoming  in  age.  Beside  the  old  gentle- 
man, on  a  high  chair  that  had  probably  been  Rose's 
when  a  baby,  and  regularly  set  at  table  for  the  pur- 
pose, sat  Tib  the  cat,  watching  demurely  the  progress 
of  the  meal  of  which  she  always  had  her  due  appor- 
tionment, for  Mr.  Ackland  would  by  no  means  trust 
the  feeding  of  his  favorite  to  old  Nancy,  who  was 
known  to  regard  her  with  no  friendly  feelings,  for 
reasons  known  to  herself,  and  not  altogether  unknown 
to  others. 

There  was  comfort  within  the  quiet  dwelling,  and 
around  the  plain  but  neatly-served  tea-table  of  the 
Acklands.  The  room  which  served  them  as  a  gen- 
eral salle-a-mangcr,  was  smaller  than  the  one  in  which 
we  first  saw  them,  with  an  ol d -fish i one d  grate  and  a 
coal  fire  in  the  fireplace,  and  directly  opposite  an 
arched  recess,  in  which  stood  a  heavy  mahogany  side- 
board,  as  old  apparently  as  itself.  Red  moreen  cur- 
tains were  drawn  down  over  the  one  window  of  the 


24  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

room,  shutting  out  the  dark  night  and  thetcwling 
winds  that  were  abroad  on  land  and  water. 

"  How  snug  it  is  in  here, '  said  Rose,  glancing 
around  with  that  sense  of  comfort  which  belongs  of 
right  and  by  force  of  contrast  to  the  winter  evening, 
"  but  it  is  a  wild  night  on  sea,  and  I  fear  we  shall  hear 
of  shipwrecks  to-morrow.  Do  you  know,  aunt,  I  have 
never  got  over  the  fear  of  high  wind  since  the  night 
of  the  great  storm." 

"  I  wonder  you  remember  it  so  well,  Rosey,"  said 
her  aunt,  speaking  with  apparent  effort,  for  some  sad 
memory  seemed  uppermost  in  her  mind  at  the  mo- 
ment ;  "you  were  but  a  little  child  at  the  time  ;  it  was 
the  year  before  your  poor  mamma's  death." 

"  Oh  !  don't  I  remember  it  for  all  that  ?  Indeed  I 
do!" 

"  What  do  you  remember,  Rose  ?'  inquired  Mr. 
Ackland,  who  had  caught  but  the  one  word.  Unlike 
most  deaf  persons  he  never  laised  his  voice  in  speak- 
ing; his  tones  were,  if  anything,  lower  and  more 
subdued  than  in  former  years,  before  that  first  symp- 
tom of  advancing  age  had  come  upon  him.  "  What 
did  you  say  yon  remembered  ?" 

"The  night  of  the  great  storm,  granlpapa,  a  ni^ht 
like  this  always  makes  me  think  of  it." 

"Ah!  that  was  an  awful  night,"  said  the  old  man 
dreamily,  as  though  endeavoring  to  recall  the  time 
and  the  scene ;  "  yes,  I,  too,  remember  it  well.  But"  — 
and  his  eye  shone  with  something  of  its  former  fi»  e, 
u  tremendous  as   the   storm    was   our   Fair   Trader 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  25 

weathered  it.  Wasn't  it  great  of  the  little  captain 
and  his  saucy  craft  lo  keep  afloat  in  such  weather, 
when  the  sea  was  covered  with  wrecks,  and  the 
noblest  ships  that  sailed  the  channel  went  down  head 
foremost  ?  ha  !  and  she  the  only  Drogheda  vessel  out 
that  night !  eh,  Lydia  ?" 

"  It  was  certainly  something  to  boast  ot,  papa," 
6aid  Miss  Ackland,  pleased  to  see  her  father's  interest 
excited,  and  desirous  of  keeping  it  up.  "I  dont 
wonder  that  the  merchants  of  Drogheda  presented 

Captain  B with  such  a  substantial  testimonial  in 

token  of  their  admiration." 

"  /  was  one  of  the  first  to  move  in  getting  it  up," 
said  Mr.  Ackland,  and  he  drew  himself  up  with  the 
harmless  vanity  of  an  old  man. 

"So  I  have  often  heard,  papa,  and,  indeed,  I  remem- 
ber it  well  myself.  The  Trader  was  popular  before, 
but  it  was  that  night  that  made  her  reputation  and 
that  of  her  active,  spirited  little  captain,  of  whom  I 
have  heard  you  speak  many  a  time." 

Nancy  nowr  appeared  to  "  remove  the  tea-things," 
m  answer  to  Miss  Ackland's  ring,  and  Rose  could  not 
help  laughing  at  the  scowling  look  she  cast  on  the 
cat,  and  the  mattered  comments  on  her  being  allowed 
at  the  table  all  as  one  as  a  Christian,  which  she  knew 
could  not  reach  "  the  master's"  ears. 

"  God  grant  he  mayn't  be  sorry  for  it  when  it's  too 
J&te  ! '  said  she,  half  to  the  ladies,  half  to  herself,  as  she 
rriade  her  exit  with  the  tea-tray,  after  darting  another 
angry  look  at  the  unconscious  object  of  ber  singulai 
aversion. 


CHAPTER  n. 

The  old  house  was  somewhat  dull  at  times  for 
Rose  Ackland's  liking ;  not  but  what  she  was  happy 
— happy  in  the  love  and  gentle  companionship  of  hei 
aunt,  and  the  doting  fondness  of  her  grandfather 
whose  darling  she  was,  as  may  well  be  supposed  ; 
moreover,  she  had  never  known  a  gayer  life  than  that 
she  led  with  them,  and  she  knew  no  reason,  therefore, 
why  she  should  desire  a  change.  She  wTas  happy, 
too,  in  the  regular  routine  of  her  daily  life,  and  in  its 
unbroken  peace  forgot  its  dullness  and  monotony. 
Hers  was  not  a  nature  wherein  there  lie  depths  un- 
seen of  mortal  eye,  depths  which,  like  the  pool  of 
Bethesda,  await  their  time  to  be  troubled,  stirred  into 
good  or  evil ;  bright,  cheerful,  transparent,  she  was 
born  to  make  joy  around  her,  and  to  be  made  glad 
and  joyous ;  gloom  and  discontent  were  alike  unknown 
to  her,  and  care  she  had  never  known,  so  could  not 
realize.  Brought  up  by  her  aunt  in  the  sweet  and 
soothing  regularity  of  a  Christian  life,  surrounded  only 
by  the  good  and  the  refined,  she  had  never  seen  the 
dark  side  of  life,  or  of  human  nature,  and  passion  she 
knew  not  even  by  name.     Yet  bright,  calm,  and  peace* 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  27 

fill  as  her  life  was,  and  little  as  she  knew  of  the  world 
without,  there  were  times,  as  we  have  said,  when  the 
gloom  and  the  silence  of  the  old  house  chilled  her 
buoyant  spirit,  and  she  started  at  the  echo  of  her  own 
footfall,  through  the  tenantless  rooms  and  along  the 
narrow,  dimly-lighted  corridors,  that  ran  around  the 
winding  staircase  ascending  from  the  centre  of  the 
hall  to  the  topmost  story.  When  of  an  evening  her 
aunt  lapsed  into  thoughtful  silence,  as  often  happened, 
and  her  grandpapa  dozed  in  his  arm-chair,  Rose  would 
have  recourse  for  a  while  to  her  piano,  but  she  socn 
tired  of  playing  when  no  one  listened,  and  then  she 
was  fain  to  go  t^o  the  kitchen,  and  have  a  chat  with 
old  Nancy,  who  having  been  in  the  family  since  long, 
long  before  she  was  born,  knew  all  about  her  mother, 
and  the  good  old  days  when  Mr.  Ackland  was  Mayor 
of  Droghada,  and  his  house  "  great  for  company.1'  In 
the  altered  circumstances  of  the  family,  Nancy  was 
the  only  one  that  j^mained  of  a  goodly  retinue  of  ser- 
vants, and  although  the  old  woman  never  lost  sight 
of  what  the  Acklands  had  been,  and  never  presumed, 
to  any  great  extent,  on  her  long  and  faithful  service, 
still  it  was  natural  that  she  should  feel  herself,  and  be 
treated  by  the  family,  as  something  more  than  an 
ordinary  domestic. 

That  old  kitchen  of  Nancy's,  though  large  and 
stone-floored,  was  the  cleanest  and  cheeriest  of  kitch- 
ens, a  very  picture  of  domestic  comfort,  and  so  Rose 
thought  when,  leaving  her  grandfather  and  aunt  at 
their  chess  or  backgammon,  she  stole  off  to  the  kitchen^ 


28  THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

and  took  a  chair  placed  by  Nancy  near  the  fire,  that 
bleak  winter's  night  after  her  visit  to  Baltray.  ,  She 
was  scarcely  seated  when  the  cat  made  her  appear- 
ance, and  took  her  station  in  the  chimney  corner  op- 
posite, not,  however,  without  an  energetic  protest  oa 
the  part  of  Nancy,  who  could  with  difficulty  be  per- 
suaded to  let  her  remain  there. 

11  She's  as  wise  as  any  Christian,"  said  she,  "  the 
Lord  forgive  me  for  evenin'  a  Christian  to  a  cat — 
but,  sure,  it's  no  wonder,"  and  she  lowered  her  voico 
to  a  whisper,  "  it's  the  devil's  own  wit  she  has,  the 
Lord  save  us !" 

"  Why,  Nancy,"  cried  Rose  with  her  merry  laugh, 
"  how  hard  you  are  upon  poor  Tab !  What  in  the 
world  makes  you  hate  her  so  ?" 

"Oh!  I'll  tell  you  that  another  time — when  she's 
not  to  the  fore.  It  isn't  safe  talkin  about  the  likes 
of  her  an'  them  listenin.'  You  were  down  at  B  iltray, 
Miss  Rosey — what  way  is  Mabel  ?" 

"  Prelty  well — for  her,  you  know — but  fretting  her- 
self to  death  on  account  of  a  dream  she  had." 

"  A  drame  !"  cried  Nancy,  much  excited  ;  she  was 
given  to  dreaming  herself;  "  ah  then,  what  was  the 
drame  about!" 

"  Well,  that  is  more  than  /  can  tell  you ;  she  bid 
me  tell  Aunt  Lydia  that  she  had  dreamed  of  some- 
body she  used  to  know,  and  the  best  of  it  was,  that 
as  soon  as  I  told  my  aunt,  thinking,  to  be  sure,  that 
sho  would  laugh  at  the  old  creature's  sending  her 
such  a  message,  she  got  as  pale  as  death,  and  cama 


THE    OLD    £103 SB    BY    THE    BOYXB. 


2l> 


near  fainting,  I  believe.     I  declare  she  frightened  me 
almost  out  of  my  wits." 

"Was  it  a  man  or  a  woman  she  seen  in  the  drame— 
that's  Mabel,  I  mane  ?" 

"  A  man,  for  I  noticed  she  said  '  he:  But,  my  good- 
ness !  what  of  that  ?  I'm  sure  /dream  about  all  sorts 
of  things,  and  people,  too,  and  it  never  troubles  me 
in  the  least." 

Ah!  Go  I  help  your  wit,  poor  child!"  said  Nancy 
in  a  very  serious  tone,  shaking  her  head  the  while, 
'•  it's  little  you  know  about  trouble  in  drames  or  out 
o'  them.  Your  time's  to  come  yit, — astore,  it's  all  be- 
fore you." 

"What's  before  me?"  said  Rose,  turning  quickly, 
her  curiosity  somewhat  excited  by  the  old  woman's 
manner  still  more  than  her  words.  "What  do  you 
mean,  Nancy?" 

"  I  mane,  dear,  that  when  you  have  lived  as  long, 
an'  come  through  as  much  as  your  aunt, — but  God 
forbid  you'd  ever  do  that  !"  she  muttered  in  an  under 
tone— "you d  maybe  be  as  feard  of  the  drames  that 
come  by  night  as  she  is  now.1' 

"  As  she  is  ?''  cried  Rose,  much  surprised  ;  "  why, 
you  don't  mean  to  speak  so  of  my  aunt,  do  you? 
Ha3  she  had  so  much  trouble  in  her  life  ?  I  know  all 
about  grandpapa's  losses  in  trade,  and  all  that,  and 
how  my  poor  papa  and  mamma  died  within  a  year 
of  each  other.  I  have  often  heard  my  aunt  speak  of 
those  things,  but  in  a  quiet,  gentle  way,— I  never  saw 
lier  so  overcome  as  she  was  to-night  when  I  gave  her 


30  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    Till:    BOYNE. 

Mabel's  message.  What  can  it  mean  ?"  Ami  a 
shade  of  thought,  ail  unusual,  flitted  over  the  bright 
girlish  face.  She  was  silent  a  moment,  so  was  Nancy, 
but  when  Rose  at  last  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  old 
woman  standing  by  her  side,  she  was  struck  by  the 
look  of  conscious  intelligence  that  was  in  her  keen 
gray  eyes.  "  Nancy  !"  she  said,  laying  hold  of  her 
arm,  "  you  know  it  all— you  can  tell  me.  I  ne\/  er 
thought  of  that.   You  have  known  my  aunt  so  long!" 

"Ah'  God's  blessiir  be  about  her,  sure  I  seen  her 
a  weeny  little  thing  not  so  high  as  the  table !  Ay  !'* 
she  added,  as  if  to  herself,  "I  knew  her  when  she 
was  as  merry  as  a  kid,  an'  as  happy  as  the  day  was 
long.  An'  no  wonder  she  would — ah  !  no  wonder. 
Well!  it's  a  quare  world,  anyhow! — och  !  didn't  I 
know  them  all — all — didn't  I  know  kitty  too, — an: 
many's  the  bright  silver  crown  he  gave  me!  Oh 
sure,  sure,  it  was  a  pity  they  didn't  come  together, 
for  there  never  was  a  couple  better  matched,  a  1'  so 
every  one  said !" 

"But  you  talk  of  him,  Nancy  ?  Now,  I  want  to 
know  who  lie  was,  and  all  about  him.  Tell  me — 
there's  a  good  Nancy." 

Nancy  could  never  resist  the  young  lady  s  coaxing — 
no,  never,  and  she  made  up  her  mind  to  tell  her  all 
she  knew  herself  of  Miss  Ackland's  early  life ;  with 
that  intention,  she  squatted  beside  her  on  the  floor  in 
that  attitude  so  familiar  to  an  old  Irishwoman  of  her 
class  when  she  sets  herself  for  a. shanachus,  her  hands 
clasped  tightly  round  her  knees. 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.  31 

"  Miss  Rose,"  she  began,  "  your  aunt  wasn't  always 
the  same  as  you  see  her  now.  Well !  now,  only  look 
at  that  cat,"  dropping  her  voice  very  low,  "  see  how 
she  watches  me;  I'll  engage,  now,  she  umlherstand* 
every  word  I'm  sayinV 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  Nancy,  don't- mind  the  cat — do  g<! 
on  with  your  story  !" 

"  Well !  Miss,  as  I  was  goin'  to  tell  you,  your  aunt 
was  a  fine  darlin'  young  lady  about  twenty  years 
agone,  not  so  full  of  fun,  or  fond  of  divarsion  as  you 
are,  but  still  brisk  an'  lively,  an'  as  purty  a  crature  as 
you'd  wish  to  look  at — ay  !  a  deal  purtier  than  yon 
are  now,  Miss  Rose,  for  you  see  she  had  skin  as  white 
as  milk,  an'  hair  as  black  as  a  sloe,  an'  eyes  like  the 
blue  sky  of  a  bright  summer's  day  when  the  sun  is 
shinin'  through  it,  An'  then  she  was  so  tall  an' 
straight,  an'  you  could  a'most  span  her  waist,  an'  she 
had  a  step  like  a  queen — well !  it's  a  folly  to  talk,  she 
was  a  beauty — so  /  thought,  anyhow." 

"  My  goodness,  Nancy  !  never  mind  telling  me 
what  Aunt  Lydia  was  then — lean  wTell  imagine  what 
she  must  have  been,  from  what  I  see  her  now  !  But 
what  about  the  gentleman — for  I  suppose  he  tuas  a 
gentleman  ?" 

"  'Deed,  then,  he  was,  Miss,  an'  the  heart's  blood 
of  a  gentleman,  too,  none  of  your  pinked  out,  dandi- 
fied sham  genteels,  but  a  rale  ofT-handed,  good-na- 
tured, dashing  fellow,  with  the  sperit  of  a  prince,  an' 
the  heart  of  a  lion,  as  I  often  hard  the  ould  master 
Bay — ochone!  it's  little  he  thought,  then,  of  all  that 


Wsj>.  m  .Lr;  ■ 


32  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

was  to  happen  in  the  long  run  !  Tall  an'  Landsoma 
he  was,  too,  with  his  beautiful  head  of  light-coloi  ed 
hair,  an'  a  light  complexion,  too,  an'  the  purtiest  smile 
you  ever  seen  on  a  man's  face.  An'  the  voice  he 
had — why,  you'd  love  to  hear  him  talkin',  Miss  Rose, 
even  if  you  didn't  know  him,  at  all.  Well!  well!  it's 
a  quare  way  things  goes  on  in  this  wicked  world, 
when  the  likes  of  him  'id  be  trated  in  the  way  he 
was." 

"  What  way  was  he  treated,  Nancy  ?  Or  who  was 
he,  at  all  ?" 

"  That's  what  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you,  Miss  Rose,  if 
you'll  only  have  patience." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  tell  her,  Nancy  ?" 

Both  started,  and  looked  round  in  blank  dismay  ; 
it  was  Miss  Ackland  wTho  spoke,  and  the  icy  coldness 
of  her  tone,  and  the  stonyx  severity  of  her  look  some- 
how reminded  Rose,  disconcerted  as  she  was,  of  the 
handsome,  fair-haired,  dashing  cavalier  to  whose 
praises  she  had  been  so  eagerly  listening,  and  made 
her  sympathize  with  that  unknown  individual  in  the 
"  treatment"  he  might  possibly  have  received.  Nancy 
was  on  her  feet  in  a  moment,  but  somehow  she  for- 
got to  answer  the  question  put  to  her. 

Miss  Ackland  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  and 
she  smiled  a  bitter,  inward  smile,  all  unlike  her  own. 
Then  she  laid  her  hand  kindly  on  her  niece's  head— • 
"  Rose,  my  dear,  go  to  your  grandpapa,  he  is  rather 
low  in  spirits  to-night,  so  try  and  make  him  laugh,  as 
I  know  you  can." 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE  33 

"  Yes,  A  j at  Lydia !"  and  Rose  tripped  away,  taking 
Tab  in  her  arms. 

It  was  not  till  the  parlor  door  was  heard  closing 
after  admitting  her  niece,  that  Miss  Ackland  spoke  to 
Nancy;  then  she  said — u  Nancy,  what  were  you  tell- 
ing Miss  Rose,  just  now  ?" 

"  Nothing  at  all  only — only — now,  don't  look  at  me 
that  way,  Miss  Ackland,  and  Til  tell  you  the  truth. 
The  dear  child  wanted  to  know  who  it  was  that  Mabel 
had  been  dramin'  about,  that  her  message  troubled 
you  so  much " 

"  Troubled  me  so  much  ? — Nancy,  you  forget  your- 
self!" 

"  Well !  I  didn't  mane  to  say  that,  Miss  Ackland, 
but  now  that  it's  out,  let  it  go.  I'm  sure  its  no 
wondher  it  would  trouble  you  to  hear  of  him 
that's " 

"  Nancy,  I  have  one  thing  to  tell  you,  oi?ce  for  all," 
interrupted  Miss  Ackland  more  sternly  than  her  old 
domestic  had  ever  heard  her  speak — "I  do  not  wish 
you  to  speak  to  Mis>  Rose  of — of,"  her  lip  trembled, 
and  her  voice  faltered — "  of  the  person  you  allude 
to.  When  I  deem  it  proper  that  she  should  know 
the  sad  story  of  my  life,  I  will  tell  her  myself. 
To  hear  it  now  would  only  throw  a  cloud  over  her 
young  life,  without  serving  any  good  purpose.  Some 
day  I  may  tell  her  all,  but  not  now — oh  !  not  now— 
and,  remember,  Nancy'  what  I  say  to  you— never 
breathe  a  word  of  anything  relating  to  him — to  me— 


34  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

in  those  long-past  days.  But,  tell  me,  how  much  doet 
she  know  ?" 

"  Nothing,  Miss,  nothing  worth  speaking  of — only 
that  there  was  such  a  person." 

"  Not  his  name  ?" 

"  No,  Miss  Ackland ;  nothing  at  all  only  what  I 
tell  you." 

"  It  is  well;  see  that  it  continue  so." 

The  lady  then  went  on  to  speak  of  some  house- 
hold matters  on  which  she  had  come  to  consult 
Nancy,  and  no  further  allusion  was  made  to  the  for- 
bidden topic.  When  Miss  Ackland  left  the  kitchen, 
the  old  woman  stood  a  moment  looking  after  her, 
then  shook  her  head,  and  muttered  to  herself — 
"  That's  the  world  all  over  ! — Out  o'  sight,  out  o' 
mind  !"  Simple,  soft-hearted  old  Nancy  !  much  you 
knew  about  it ! 

Miss  Ackland  thought  it  a  strange  coincidence  that 
for  the  first  time  in  years  long  her  father  had  that 
evening  reverted  to  the  same  perio  1  of  her  life  which 
had  been  the  subject  of  Nancy's  gossip.  The  stranger 
it  was,  too,  because  it  was  tacitly  avoided  by  both 
father  and  daughter  in  their  most  private  and  confi 
dential  intercourse.  The  allusion  wTas  slight  and 
casual,  it  is  true,  but  even  so  it  had  stirred  the  depths 
of  a  lonely  and  widowed  heart.  "  Oh,  Ralph !"  she 
murmured,  as  on  her  way  back  from  the  kitchen  she 
passed  the  parlor  door,  and  turned  into  a  dark  room 
adjoining,  the  window  of  which  in  daylight  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  river's  course  down  to  Mom 


THE    OLD    IIOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  33 

Ington,  and  a  glimpse  of  the  more  distant  sea — "  oh, 
Ralph !  Ralph  Melville '  why  does  your  memory 
haunt  me  still  ?  cruel !  you  pursue  me  even  from  th'3 
grave  ! — The  grave  !"  and  she  shuddered, — as  leaning 
against  the  side  of  the  deep  recess  of  the  window 
she  looked  out  on  the  gloomy  night,  and  the  troubled 
waters  far  below,  revealed  ever  and  anon  by  the 
forked  lightning's  lurid  glare, — 'The  grave!  ah! 
my  poor  Ralph  !  not  even  the  mournful  comfort  is 
mine  to  know  that  you  sleep  in  hallowed  earth  !  Bnt 
why,  why  can  I  not  forget  the  dismal  past?  Why 
does  that  mournful  voice  echo  forever  in  my  heart — 
why  is  ever  before  my  eyes  that  last,  sad,  reproachful 
lo  >k  ? — Oh  my  God  !  why  can  I  not  forget  ?" 

She  was  aroused  from  her  painful  reverie  by  the 
blithe  cheery  voice  of  Rose  singing  in  the  parlor  a 
song,  that  her  grandfather  loved — :' The  Canadian 
R  >at-Song."  Silently  Lydia  listened,  the  tears  stream- 
ing down  her  cheeks.  It  was  Ids  song,  the  first  she 
had  heard  him  sing,  and  the  scene  rose  vividly  before 
her,  so  vividly  that  all  the  long  lapse  of  years,  the 
weariness,  the  pain  that  lay  between  was  forgotten, 
that  happy  eve  ing  was  back  again,  and  the  sea  for 
the  while  gave  up  its  dead  to  live  and  love  as  of  old, 
in  the  prime  of  youth  and  health. 

Suddenly  a  dull  heavy  sound  reached  Lydia's  ear, 
amid  the  roar  of  winds  and  the  surging  of  waters, 
It  was  the  signal  gun  of  some  ship  in  distress, — out 
Bt  sea,  but  near  the  coast  Forgetting  the  life-long 
sorrows  whi-h   a  moment  before  had   absorbed  her 


36  THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

every  thought  and  feeling,  Miss  Ackland  started  a\ 
the*  ominous  sound,  and  opening  the  window,  leaned 
out ;  again,  over  the  increasing  storm,  boomed  forth 
the  signal  gun,  nearer  and  more  distinct  than  before, 
awaking  the  sullen  echoes  of  rock  and  river,  and  roll- 
ing by  on  the  wintry  blast.  Hastily  closing  the  win- 
dow, Miss  Ackland  hurried  to  the  parlor,  at  the  door 
of  which  she  was  met  by  Rose  pale  and  trembling. 
The  old  man,  too,  had  left  his  seat,  and  stood  in  a 
listening  attitude,  a  troubled,  anxious  look  on  his 
aged  countenance. 

"Oh!  Aunt  ydia,  where  can  it  be?''  cried  Rose, 
grasping  her  aunt's  arm.  Mr.  Ackland  looked  the 
same  question. 

"  I  fear,  papa,  it  is  bearing  down  on  the  rocks  near 
Clogher." 

"  Clogher,  did  you  say,  Lydia  ? — Now,  God  forbid  P 

"It  is  somewhere  near  there,  I  very  much  fear, 
papa !" 

"  Oh !  grandpapa,  there  it  is  again,  that  awful 
sound  !  nearer,  nearer  still !" 

"  Can  nothing  be  done,  papa  ?"  said  Miss  Ackland 
anxiously. 

"  God  knows,  child,  God  knows.  Get  me  my  hat, 
Rosey,  I  mu?t  have  a  look  at  the  night,  and  the  lie  of 
that  vessel.'' 

The  hat  and  cloak  were  brought,  and  Mr.  Ackland! 
sallied  forth,  followed  by  all  his  "  womankind,"  for 
Nancy,  too,  had  heard  the  signals  of  distress,  and,  ter- 
rified, rose  from  her  prayers  by  the  fiieside  to  join 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE.  37 

the  family  group  on  the  esplanade  in  front  of  the 
house.  Shot  after  shot  was  now  booming  through 
the  air  in  quick  succession,  denoting  the  increasing 
peril  of  the  mariners. 

"  Well,  papa  ?"  inquired  Miss  Ackland,  when  they 
had  all  stood  a  moment  silent  whilst  the  old  man's 
practised  eye  scanned  the  dismal  scene. 

"  You  were  right,  Lydia,  the  sound  comes  from  the 
direction  of  Clogher,  and  wo  betide  any  vessel  that  is 
driving  before  the  wind  to-night  off  that  rocky  ridge, 
for  the  gale  is  a  fierce  northeaster." 

"  But,  papa,  don't  you  think  some  boats  will  put  off 
to  try  and  save  the  crew  ?" 

"  I  much  fear  that  no  boat  could  live  to-night  in 
such  a  sea  as  that  which  sweeps  round  the  Head. 
Still,  they're  a  hardy  set  of  fellows  those  Clogher  fish- 
ermen, and  I'm  sure  they'll  do  it,  if  men  can." 

"  God  grant  it !"  was  the  fervent  prayer  of  all  the 
hearts  in  that  group  of  anxious  watchers. 

"  If  they  could  only  make  the  Tower,*  now,  and 
get  over  the  bar/'  said  Mr.  Ackland,  '  the  Raltray 
men  wouldn't  have  such  a  sea  to  bre  >st,  and  they 
might  save  some  lives  God  bless  us  all,  it's  a  fearful 
night !  Many  a  stout  craft  will  go  down  in  the 
storm,  if  it  be  not  the  mercy  of  God  !  See  the  fiery 
glare  that  shines  through  the  darkness  out  on  the 
deep  !  Lydia !  do  you  still  hear  the  gun  ?  My  old 
ears  are  so  dull  of  hearing!" 

*  Maiden  Tower,  which  stands  on  the  beach  at  Mornington, 
Dear  the  month  of  the  Boyne. 


58  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

"  Yes,  there  it  is  again — but  the  intervals  are  longer 
— perhaps — perhaps  efforts  are  being  made  to  save 
the  crew !" 

"  Ah '  my  child,  I  fear  little  can  be  done — but  let 
us  go  in,"  added  the  old  man  sadly,  "  we  can  do  no- 
thing, anyhow  !" 

"  We  can  pray,  papa,  and  that  will  still  be  some- 
thing." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Rose,  "  I  have  been  praying  ever 
since  we  came  out,  and  so  has  Nancy."  It  was  true 
enough,  for  the  latter  was  telling  her  beads  with  great 
devotion.  So  the  little  family  adjourned  to  the  lighted 
parlor,  and  they  all  knelt  to  supplicate  Mary  the  Star 
of  the  Sea  to  assist  all  distressed  mariners  that  night, 
and  more  especially  those  who  were  in  danger  of 
perishing,  almost  within  their  sight. 

"  If  it  be  not  Thy  holy  will  that  they  should  be 
saved,  O  Lord '."  prayed  Miss  Ackland  with  bowed 
head  and  clasped  hands,  "  have  mercy,  at  least,  on 
their  poor  souls,  and  prepare  them  for  eternity 
Long  they  all  knelt  and  prayed,  while  the  storm  raged 
without,  but  in  vain  they  listened  for  the  signal-gun ; 
it  reached  their  ears  no  more. 

Next  morning  the  family  were  all  astir  early ;  the 
storm  had  subsided,  and  the  pale  wintry  sun  was  ris- 
ing from  the  blue  sea-wave  in  the  golden  east.  Not 
slow  was  the  news  in  reaching  the  old  house  on  the 
hill.  A  foreign  merchantman  had  gone  to  pieces  on 
the  rocks  near  Clogher  Head. 

And  the  crew?  what  of  them?" 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    ThE    BOYNE.  39 

11  Most  of  them  were  saved,  partly  by  the  efforts  of 
the  Clogher  fishermen,  partly  by  swimming,  and 
clambering  up  the  rocks." 

"  Thank  God  for  that,  anyhow  !"  said  old  Nancy 
with  pious  fervor,  as  she  hastened  with  the  welcome 
tidings  to  the  room  where  the  family  were  just  sit- 
ting down  to  breakfast.  Rose  clapped  her  hands 
joyfully. 

"  Oh  dear  !  I'm  so  glad  !  I  thought  they  were  all 
drowned,  and  that  would  have  been  such  a  pity  ! — 
oh  !  I'm  sure  the  Blessed  Virgin  heard  our  prayers  ! 
I  know  she  di  I  1" 

"What  is  that.  Lylia?'  in  j  lira  I  Mr.  Ackland  , 
"  any  news  from  the  coast  ?" 

"  Yes,  papa,"  Miss  Ackland  said,  in  that  slightly 
elevi.ted  tone  which  her  father's  infirmity  required, 
"  the  ship  went  to  pieces  on  the  rocks  this  side  of 
Clogher  Head,  but  nearly  all  the  crew  were  saved." 

"Thank  (Jo-1,  child,  thank  God  !  there  is  nothing 
bad,  they  say,  but  mi  rht  be  worse.  I  shall  walk  into 
town  by  and  by  to  try  and  find  out  what  became  of 
the  poor  fellows." 

"Ami  I  think,  papa,  if  you  11  send  us  out  a  car, 
Rose  and  I  will  drive  down  to  Chgher  and  see 
how  matters  are  there.  I  am  most  anxious  to  know 
all  about  the  shipwreck,  and  see  if  anything  is  being 
done  for  those  of  her  crew  who  were  saved." 

"Very  well,  my  dear,  I  will  send  Connor"— (the 
car-driver  usually  employed  by  the  family).  A  little 
while  after,  the  tall  thin  form  of  old  George  AckTan  1  — 


40  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    EOYXE. 

familiar  enough  to  the  good  people  of  Drogheda — 
might  be  seen  walking,  gold-beaded  canj  in  hand, 
through  Lawrence's  Gate,  and  down  Lawrence,  street 
and  Shop  street,  on  bis  way  to  the  office  of  an  old 
friend  and  former  partner  on  the  Quay,  where  he  ex- 
pected to  get  the  desired  information.  Long  before 
he  reached  his  destination,  he  knew  all  that  was 
known  in  Drogheda,  for  every  one  he  passed  in  the 
streets  was  talking  of  the  wreck  of  the  good  ship 
San  Pietro  of  Leghorn,  near  Clogber  Head,  that  the 
crew  were  all  saved  except  a  few,  and  that  the  captain 
was  already  in  town  making  arrangements  for  the 
temporary  accommodation  of  his  men.  Some  of  the 
townspeople  had  been  already  to  the  scene  of  the 
disaster,  bringing  with  them  ample  supplies  of  every- 
thing necessary  for  the  immediate  relief  of  the  sur- 
vivors. 

When  Mr.  Ackland  returned  home  to  his  three 
o'clock  dinner,  he  was  met  in  the  hall  by  his  grand- 
daughter, all  a-glow  with  life  and  health,  and  brim- 
ful of  intelligence.  "  God  bless  the  child !"  was 
the  old  man's  inward  ejaculation  as  the  cheering 
vision  burst  on  his  age-dimmed  eyes. 

"  Well,  Rosey,  my  pet,  what  news  have  you  for 
me  ?     What  of  the  San  Pietro  .?" 

"  Oh  !  grandpapa,  we  saw  all  the  poor  sailors.  Al 
most  every  house  in  Clogber  has  some  of  them  for  tht 
present,  but  you  know  what  poor  accommodations 
they  have  for  anybody  there." 

"I  know,  my  child,  but  they  will  not  be  long  left 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TUli    BO\'N£. 


11 


Lo  the  Clogher  people's  care;  I  believe  they  will  be 
brought  into  town  this  afternoon." 

By  this  time  the  old  gentleman  had  laid  aside,  with 
Rose's  assistance,  his  overcoat,  hat,  and  stick,  and 
had  ensconced  himself  snugly  in  his  arm-chair  in  front 
of  the  parlor  fire.  Rose  drew  a  tabouret  and  placed 
herself  at  his  side. 

"  Grandpapa,-"  said  she,  "  do  you  know  there  was  one 
passenger  on  board  the  San  Pietro  ?" 

'•  Yes  ? — A  supercargo,  I  suppose,  or  some  friend  of 
the  captain?" 

"No,  grandpapa,  the  sailors  didn't  know  anything 
about  him ;  but  he  is  a  gentleman,  that's  certain,  by 
his  appearance — Aunt  Lydia  said  she  was  sure  he 
was." 

"Well,  and  what  then?' 

"  Why  nothing,  grandpapa,  only  Aunt  Lydia  said 
she  couldn't  think  of  leaving  him  in  such  a  place,  and 
he  quite  ill,  too,  so  she  got  Tom  Madigan  to  put  a  bed 
m  a  cart  and  take  him  up  here." 

"  Oli !  that's  how  it  is,  is  it  ?  So  your  aunt  has 
brought  him  home?" 

"  Yes,  papa,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  who  now  entered 
to  announce  dinner,  "I  knew  you  would  not  object  to 
my  doing  so,  and  I  know  when  you  see  the  poor  young 
man  you  will  be  glad  I  did.  He  was  quite  insensible 
when  I  found  him  in  MadigaiLS  cottage,  and  might 
have  died  there  soon  for  want  of  proper  care." 

The  old  man's  lip  quivered,  and  a  tear  moistened 
his  eyelids — "  Humph,  that's  so  like  you,  Lydia,  you 


12  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

never  calculate  cost  or  trouble  >vLen  an)  one  requires 
your  assistance.  No,  my  daughter,  I  do  not  object 
to  what  you  have  done,  so  long  as  you  are  willing  to 
undertake  this  new  responsibility.  Come,  let  us  go 
\o  ilinner."  Kind,  benevolent  old  man,  type  of  patri- 
archal age,  and  of  all  the  broad  sympathy  with  his 
jlaA  which  marks  the  true  gentleman.  Rich  -was 
George  Ackland  in  the  midst  of  that  poverty  to 
which  honor  and  honesty  had  voluntarily  consigned 
him.  Rich  in  the  esteem  and  respect  of  the  com- 
munity in  which  he  lived  and  of  which  he  had  once 
been  a  leading  and  prominent  member.  He  belonged 
to  an  old  Protestant  family,  but  had  become  a  Catho- 
lic a  little  before  his  mai  riage  with  the  daughter  of 
another  old  Norman  family,  the  Chesters,  then  and 
now  occupying  a  high  position  amongst  the  Catholic 
gentry  of  Louth.  Like  most  converts  to  the  faith 
Mr.  Ackland  was  a  practical,  zealous  Catholic,  illus 
trating  faithfully  in  his  life  the  beautiful  precepts  of 
the  religion  he  had  embraced,  and  whilst  looked  up 
to  by  Catholics  with  proud  affection,  commanded 
even  from  Protestants  the  respect  due  to  an  honorable 
and  high-minded  gentleman,  never  so  high  amongst 
them  as  since  the  repeated  failures  of  large  mercan- 
tile houses  with  whom  he  was  connected  had  involved 
his  affair?  in  irretrievable  ruin.  Such  was  old  Georga 
Ackland. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Two  weeks  had  passed  before  the  young  stranger 
w  is  pronounced  out  of  danger,  and  another  week  be- 
fore he  was  permitted  to  leave  his  bed.  His  life  had 
been  in  imminent  danger  from  concussion  of  the 
brain,  the  eftect  of  his  having  been  dashed  by  a  wave 
against  a  jutting  fragment  of  rock  on  the  night  of  the 
shipwreck.  His  perilous  position  on  the  ledge  where 
he  was  thrown  had  been  fortunately  discovered  by 
one  of  the  sailors  in  time  to  rescue  h:m  before  the  re- 
turning wave  should  carry  him  to  certain  death. 
During  his  illness,  he  bad  been  assiduously  tended  by 
Miss  Ackland  and  old  Nancy,  the  former,  especially, 
spending  great  part  of  her  time  in  the  sick-room. 
The  most  perfect  quiet  being  declared  necessary  for 
the  patient's  recovery,  neither  Mr.  Ackland  nor  Rose 
was  admitted  to  the  room  until  after  the  object  of  the 
family's  charitable  care  had  been  pronounced  out  of 
danger,  and  was  sitting  up.  It  had  been  a  source  of 
some  anxiety  to  Miss  Ackland  how  she  was  to  com 
municate  with  her  patient  when  once  his  reason  began 
to  return  ;  she  had  naturally  supposed  that  he  could 
speak  no  English,  and  her  kn— 1  'dge  of  foreign  Ian 


s 


44  TUB    OLb    t*„.$E    BY    TUh    BOYNE. 


guages  was  unluckily  limited  to  French.  Her  plea- 
sure, then,  was  equal  to  her  surprise  when,  in  the 
lelirium  which  supervened  on  the  lethargic  stupor 
of  the  first  twenty-four  or  thirty  hours,  the  disjointed 
sentences  that  reached  her  ears  from  his  parched  lips 
were  as  often  English  as  Italian — though  sometimes 
i  mixture  of  both.  Her  mind  once  made  easy  on 
Oiat  score,  she  devoted  herself  with  renewed  assiduity 
to  the  duties  of  her  self-imposed  charge,  and  looked 
hopefully  forward  to  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her 
cares  rewarded  by  the  perfect  recovery  of  her  inter- 
esting patient,  for  such  he  really  was. 

As  for  the  young  stranger  himself,  his  first  return 
to  consciousness  was  like  that  of  a  person  awaking 
from  a  dream.  Near  a  window  within  sight  of  wheie 
he  lay  sat  Miss  Ackland  knitting,  her  graceful  head 
bent  forward,  and  her  delicate  profile  clearly  marked 
against  the  dark  wall  beyond.  The  sweet  face  was 
already  familiar  to  him,  for  all  through  that  long 
feverish  dream,  he  had  seen  it  by  his  bed,  and  bend- 
ing over  him  with  loving  kindness  like  that  of  a 
pitying  angel,  or  a  fond  mother,  as  he  murmured  now 
softly  to  himself.  From  the  lady's  face,  the  young 
man's  eyes  wandered  round  the  room;  it  was  old 
and  dark,  at  least  so  it  seemed  to  him  in  the  subdued 
light  which  struggled  through  the  half-closed  win- 
dow. A  few  pictures,  religious  pictures,  he  could 
see,  hung  on  the  walls,  and  opposite  the  foot  of  hig 
bed,  a  crucifix,  under  which  was  a  holy- water  font. 
The  sight  of  these  familiar  objects  drew  tears  often- 


t 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  B0YNS.  45 

der  remembrance  from  the  young  man's  eyes,  and 
raised  bis  heart  for  a  moment  to  the  Divine  Tower 
who  had,  he  felt,  preserved  him  from  a  great  danger 
though  as  yet  he  knew  not  how.     A  cursory  glance 
at  the  furniture  of  the  room,  old  and  plain  and  well 
worn,  revealed  to  him  clearly  the  fact  that  the  dwell- 
ing was  not  the  abode  of  wealth  or  luxury,  though  it 
•as  evidently  was,  of  religion  and  charity.     So  he  lay 
musing  a  little  while,  unwilling  to  disturb  the  deli- 
cious  languor  that  follows  the  departure  of  pain,  and 
mirks  the  first  stage  of  convalescence.     He  turned 
his  eyes  again  on  the  lady  at  the  window,  wondering 
who   and  what  she  might  be,  and   watched  as  in  a 
pleasant  tranquil  dream,  the  motion  of  her  fingers, 
and  the  glinting  of  the  needles  in  the  dim  light. 
From  the  present  his  thoughts  wandered  to  the  past, 
and  in  die  hah"  conscious  state  of  his  mind,  he  could 
fancy  that  he   saw  again  the  mother  who  was   no 
longer  amongst  the  living,  siting  by  her  window  in 
that  far-off  sou  hern  city  by  the  blue  waters  of  the 
Mediterranean.    At  last  the  lady  rose,  laid  down  her 
knitting  and  approached  his  bed,  softly,  noiselessly; 
the  spell  was  broken,  but  the  reality  was  still  pleasant, 
and  romantic  enough  to  excite  interest  and  curiosity 
in  a  youthful  mind. 

Great  and  very  agreeable  was  Miss  Ackland's  sur- 
prise when  on  bending,  as  usual,  over  her  patient,  she 
saw  him  fully  awake,  the  light  of  reason  shining  in  his 
eyes,  and  in  the  faint  smile  that  brightened  the  wan, 
wasted  features. 


(6  THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

"  Thank  God !"  was  Miss  Ackland's  first  fervent 
ejaculation. 

"  God  and  you,  lady  !''  the  youth  rephed  in  his  faint 
low  accents.  "I  owe  you  much — very,  very  much 
gratitude.  It  seems  as  though  I  had  been  long 
asleep  and   dreaming.      But   pray  tell  me   where  I 


am 


9" 


"  You  are  in  Drogheda,  or,  at  least,  very  near  it, 
and  we  of  this  house1' — she  paused,  then  smiling 
added — "  we  are  honest  people,  I  assure  you.  You 
left  the  brigands  behind  you  in  Italy  So  rest  con- 
tent for  the  present,  and  in  due  time  you  shall  know 
all.  I  must  go  now  and  get  you  some  little  nourish- 
ment. The  fever  being  gone,  we  must  try  and  build 
vou  up  again." 

The  little  delicacies  which  Miss  Ackland  wished  to 
prepare  for  her  patient,  were  not  so  easily  pro- 
cured as  one  might  expect.  The  item  of  expense 
was  one  of  the  points  on  which  Nancy  and  her  mis- 
tress oftenest  disagreed.  She  thought  Miss  Ackland 
too  generous  by  half,  considering  the  altered  circum- 
stances of  the  family,  and  it  was  her  practice  to  re- 
mind her  on  all  manner  of  occasions  that  "  charity 
begins  at  home."  The  old  woman  had  grumbled  audi- 
bly enough  at  the  bringing  of  the  young  stranger  to 
the  house.  "  That's  always  the  way  with  Miss  Ack- 
land— she  never  thinks  of  the  expense.  Now  here'll 
be  docthor's  bills  to  be  paid,  an'  other  expenses  to  the 
back  o'  that,  an'  I  suppose  it  must  all  come  out  of  the 
poor  masthers  pocket,  an'  God  he  knows,  there's  too 


ti;e  old  house  by  the  boyne.  47 

much  to  c  mxe  out  .  "it  already.  Well!  some  people 
'ill  Dever  be  wise  I ' 

To  do  Nancy  justice,  however,  she  soon  began  to 
take  an  interest  in  the  poor  young  stranger,  and  waa 
quite  willing  to  sit  up  with  him  in  her  turn,  no  mat 
ter  how  hard  she  had  worked  all  day.  Anything 
that  depended  on  herself  to  do  for  him,  or  that  did 
not  imply  expense  to  the  family,  was  all  right  in 
Nancy's  estimation,  but  when  most  inclined  to  pity 
the  young  gentleman  '•  lyin1  on  4  the  broad  of  his 
'  back  in  a  strange  country,  far  away  from  his  own," 
she  still  never  went  to  the  length  of  approving  of 
Miss  Ackland's  "layin  out  money  in  handfuls  on  one 
who  wasn't  a  drop's  blood  to  her  or  hers, — an1  sure 
what  matter,  if  they  could  only  afford  it?" 

On  the  present  occasion,  however,  Nancy  was  so 
rejoiced  to  hear  of  the  change  for  the  better  in  their 
patient,  that  she  made  no  very  strenuous  objection  to 
the  wine- whey  which  her  mistress  came  to  prepare,  con- 
soling herself  with  the  comfortable  assurance  that 
the  worst  was  over,  and  the  tax  on  the  family  resour- 
ces would,  in  all  probability,  soon  cease. 

During  the  few  days  that  elapsed  before  the  young 
stranger  was  allowed  to  leave  his  bed,  he  was  left 
oftener  alone,  the  necessity  for  constant  attendance 
no  longer  existing.  Mr.  Ackland  was  now  a  regular 
visitor  to  the  sick-room,  and  although  Rose  had  not 
yet  been  permitted  formally  to  make  his  acquaintance, 
he  was  not  unaware  that  such  a  person  belonged  to 
the  household      Through  the  half-open  door  he  had 


18  THE    oL^     ..J.,  i.     bT    THE    BOYNE. 

sometimes  caught  glimpses  of  a  female  figure  which 
he  knew  was  not  that  of  his  kind  lady-nurse ;  he  had 
heard,  too,  the  distant  sound  of  a  clear  voice  trolling 
some  merry  lay  as  only  youth's  lightsome  heart  can, 
and  once  when  he  lay  "  between  waking  and  sleep- 
ing," thinking  of  nothing  in  particular,  but  listening 
dreamily  to  the  winds  that  whistled  shiiliy  round  the 
old  mansion,  the  room-door  wras  softly  opened,  ana  a 
bright,  girlish  face  appeared  for  a  moment  regarding 
him  with  a  look  half  arch,  half  inquisitive  lie  had 
barely  time  to  look  his  surprise  when  the  face  van- 
ished, and  the  door  closed,  much  to  his  chagrin,  for 
he  began  to  feel  the  e final  of  convalescence,  and  to 
long  for  some  other  society  than  that  of  the  grave  and 
thoughtful  Miss  Ackland,  and  her  venerable  parent. 
Some  days  after,  when  he  was  up  and  sitting  in  an 
arm-chair  near  the  fire  which  was  now  every  day 
made  in  his  room,  he  was  roused  from  a  fit  of  abstrac- 
tion by  the  stealthy  opening  of  the  door,  and  a  sup- 
pressed giggling  laugh  outside,  followed  by  the  en- 
trance into  the  room  of  a  large  cat  oddly  enough 
attired  in  an  old  woman's  deep- bordered  cap  with  a 
ruffle  round  her  neck,  the  rest  of  her  goodly  bulk  in 
the  dress  which  nature  gave  her.  The  ludicrous 
sight,  all  the  more  so  from  the  dignified  gravity  with 
which  the  animal  stopped  short  and  surveyed  him 
from  under  her  strange  head -gear,  made  the  youth 
burst  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter,  the  first 
he  had  had  since  he  left  Leghorn.  His  merriment 
was  evidently  shared  by  some  one  outside,  and  he 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.  49 

was  tempted  to  try  his  strength  in  a  journey  to  the 
door,  when  a  face  was  thrust  in  very  different  from 
that  which  he  expected  to  see.  It  was,  in  fact,  that 
of  old  Nancy,  his  assistant-nurse,  and  evidently  in  no 
good  humor  was  she  ihen,  as,  callijig  the  cat  to  her, 
she  darted  out  of  the  room,  without  so  much  as  look' 
ing  in  his  direction.  In  the  passage  outside  he  heard 
her  voice  in  no  gentle  tone  calling  after  some  One. 

"Ah,  then,  wait  till  I  catch  you,  Miss  Rosey  ! — if  I 
don't  be  up  to  you  for  puttin'  my  cap  an'  frill  on  that 
unlucky  cat !  Ay  !  you  may  laugh,  but  it's  no  laugh- 
in'  matther  to  me,  for  a  stitch  o'  them  things  'ill  never 
go  on  me.  As  sure  as  I'm  a  livin'  woman  I'll  tell 
your  aunt !  now  !" 

It  was  only  when  the  voice  had  died  away  in  the 
distance  that  the  young  man  ventured  to  laugh  at  the 
droll  scene,  the  first  part  of  which  had  evidently  been 
intended  for  his  special  amusement,  while  Nancy's 
inopportune  appearance,  he  shrewdly  suspected,  was 
not  purely  accidental,  her  anger  at  the  base  use  to 
which  her  finery  was  applied,  being  decidedly  the  best 
part  of  the  entertainment.  One  thing  he  had  learned 
from  old  Nancy's  vehement  objurgation,  to  wit,  that 
the  young  lady's  name  was  Rosey — "  Miss  Rosey 
she  called  her,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  he  kept  repeat- 
ing the  name  over  and  over  as  a  sort  of  vocal  link 
between  him  and  the  world  outside  the  quaint,  yet 
snug  chamber  which  was,  for  the  present,  virtually 
his  prison.  A  sort  of  indirect  acquaintance  had  thus 
sprung  up  between  the  two  young  people  that  was 


50  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNB. 

undoubtedly  very  piquant  and  pleasing  to  one  pep 
haps  to  both ;  for  it  was  something  new  to  Rosa 
Ackland  to  have  one  of  her  own  age,  of  either  sex, 
to  play  off  her  pranks  on,  or  to  share  in  her  almost 
childish  amusements. 

Still,  when  a  few  days  after,  Giacomo,  as  Miss  Ack- 
land and  her  father  had  learned  to  call  the  young 
stranger,  made  his  first  appearance  in  the  parlor,  a 
little  before  the  usual  hour  for  the  family  dinner 
Kose,  introduced  by  her  aunt,  curtsied  as  demurely 
as  though  she  had  never  made  him  laugh,  or  laughed 
with  him.  Giacomo,  of  course,  followed  her  example, 
and  bowed  politely  as  to  a  person  then  met  for  the 
first  time. 

"  My  niece  has  had  little  experience  in  tending  the 
sick,"  observed  Miss  Ackland,  "  and,  being  none  of 
the  most  sedate,  I  kept  her  away  from  you,  Giacomo, 
fearing  her  intrusion  might  seriously  interfere  with 
the  doctor's  orders  regarding  quiet.  I  believe  you 
have  not  made  her  acquaintance  before  ?" 

Giacomo  replied  in  the  negative, — Rose  must  have 
her  word,  too  :  "  No,  Aunt  Lydia,  he  didu't  make  my 
acquaintance,  but  he  made  Tab's." 

"How  is  that,  child?" 

"  Why,  she  paid  him  a  visit  the  other  day  en  grange 
toilette  I — ask  Nancy  if  she  didn't." 

The  old  woman  was  in  the  room,  at  the  moment, 
putting  fresh  wood  on  the  fire.  She  shook  her  head, 
nnd  then  her  fist,  at  her  young  mistress,  but  declined 
further  answer,  and  left  the  room  laughing;  Nancy's 


THE    OLD    riOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  51 

anger  was  never  of  long  duration,  least  of  all  with 
11  Miss  Rosey." 

That  sprightly  damsel,  now  called  on  for  an  ex- 
planation, gave  it  right  willingly,  to  the  no  small 
amusement  of  her  grandpapa,  for  whose  benefit  it  was 
told  over  again.  Such  trifles  amuse  youth  and  age,-  — 
the  young  and  the  very  old  !  Miss  Ackland  smiled, — 
she  seldom  laughed — and  gently  rebuked  her  niece 
for  such  childish  folly. 

"  Yet,  after  all,"  she  added,  in  a  low  voice,  when 
Rose's  back  was  turned,  u  yet,  after  all,  Giacomo,  I 
like  to  see  young  people  enjoying  themselves  in  their 
own  way,  and  I  am  often  thankful  to  see  how  well 
our  Rose  manages  to  amuse  herself  even  in  this  lonely 
old  house  of  ours,  with  no  other  society  than  that  of 
her  old  grandpapa  and  her  elderly  maiden  aunt." 

"  Elderly !"  the  youth  could  not  help  repeating,  as 
he  caught  the  arch  smile  that  flitted  over  the  fair  fea- 
tures of  the  speaker. 

"Yes,  eldeily,"  she  replied,  catching  his  meaning, 
and  she  gently  shook  her  head,  "  elderly,  there's  no 
denying.  But  there  is  papa  moving  bis  chair  towards 
you.  Talk  to  him  while  I  go  and  see  if  dinner  is 
ready.  Be  sure  you  raise  your  voice  a  little — a  very 
little  will  do — so  that  he  can  hear  you.  I  suppose 
you  are  aware  that  dear  papa's  hearing  is  not  so  good 
as  it  has  been  ?"  Giacomo  replied  in  the  affirmative, 
and  Miss  Ackland  left  the  room. 

Now  Mr.  Ackland  was  by  no  means  inquisitive, 
he  seldom  or  never  manifested  any  of  that  curiosity  in 


62  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE. 

the  affairs  of  others  which  is  supposed  to  be  charao* 
t eristic  of  old  people.  But  it  was  very  natural,  and. 
indeed,  very  prudent  that  he  should  wish  to  know 
something  of  the  connections  and  antecedents  of  the 
youth  whom  circumstances  had  thus  introduced  inti 
the  small  circle  which  was  his  world.  In  the  course 
of  a  ten  minutes'  conversation  he  had  learned  quite 
sufficient  of  the  young  man's  position  in  life  and  his 
uneventful  history  to  satisfy  him  that  he  might  safely 
extend  to  him  the  rites  of  hospitality  so  long  as  his 
health  required.  It  was  not  so  much  the  nature  or 
extent  of  Giacomo's  revelations  concerning  himself 
or  his  family  that  satisfied  the  old  gentleman's  natural 
anxiety,  as  the  frank  ingenuousness  of  his  manner,  the 
honest  truthfulness  stamped  on  his  features,  dark  and 
Italiandike  as  they  were.  It  was  impossible  not  to 
feel  that  truth  and  all  sincerity  looked  from  his  eyes, 
and  spoke  in  his  voice ;  and  Mr.  Ackland  feeling  and 
believing  it,  shook  hands  cordially  with  Giacomo,  and 
hoped  he  would  continue  to  make  his  house  his  home 
go  long  as  he  found  it  necessary  to  remain  in  Drog- 
heda. 

Giacomo's  thanks  were  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  Rose  to  summon  h«r  grandfather  and  their  guest 
to  dinner.  The  young  Italian,  mindful  of  the  duties 
of  politeness,  stepped  forward  to  offer  his  arm  to  the 
young  lady,  but  she  darted  off  like  a  lapwing  shaking 
her  saucy  curls,  and  laughing,  as  she  afterwards  told 
Giacomo,  at  the  thought  of  him  offering  his  arm  to 
her,  and  he  soarcely  able  to  walk  himself.     "  I  am 


THE    OLD   HOUSE    BY   THE    BOTNE.  55 

sure,"  said  she,  "  you  look  more  like  needing  support 
than  I  do." 

Before  the  little  party  sat  down  to  dinner,  Mr. 
Ackland,  with  the  formal  politeness  of  his  day 
and  generation,  introduced  their  guest  to  his  daugh- 
ter and  granddaughter  as  Signor  Giacomo  Malvili,  of 
Leghorn,  Italy. 

"  No— no,  not  Signor,  Mr.  Ackland  !"  protested 
Giacomo ;  u  nobody  ever  called  me  '  Signor'  at  home 
— only  Giacomo." 

"Well !  well!  my  dear  boy,  so  be  it.  Pray,  take 
your  seat,  and  let  us  see  how  far  you  have  recovered 
your  appetite." 

The  dinner  over,  and  the  weather  being  fine  for  the 
season,  Mr.  Ackland  invited  his  guest  to  sit  with  him 
in  the  porch,  where,  on  one  or  other  of  the  stone 
benches,  with  a  cushion  under  him,  he  was  wont  to 
spend,  even  at  that  season,  the  hour  immediately  after 
dinner, — in  summer  longer  time,  for  the  place  com- 
manded a  noble  view  of  river,  sea,  and  land — the  sil- 
very Boyne  below,  and  the  rich  plains  of  Meath  be- 
yond, dotted  with  the  straggling  suburbs  of  the 
borough  and  many  private  dwellings,  the  ancient  and 
venerable  town  stretching  westward,  its  forts,  and 
walls,  and  church  towers,  and  broken  arches  and 
steeples  full  in  sight. 

"  This  must  be  all  new  and  strange  to  you,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Ackland.  "  Everything  you  see  here  is 
go  different  from  your  own  country." 

"  New  it  is,  but  not  strange,"  said  the  youth,  cast- 


54         THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNfc. 

ing  his  eyes  half  listlessly,  half  curiously  over  the  Tflr 
ried  scene,  fair  to  look  upon  even  in  the  bleakness  of 
winter.  "  I  have  so  often  heard  of  Drogheda,  and 
had  its  peculiarities  described  to  me,  that  it  seems  as 
though  I  had  long  known  it.  I  have  heard  my  father 
say  that  it  is  very  different  from  most  Irish  or  British 
towns  of  the  present  day  P' 

"  And  that  is  true,  Giacomo,  ours  is  in  many  re- 
spects an  interesting  town,  which  I  hope  you  will 
find  out  before  you  leave  us."  The  youth  bowed  his 
thanks.  "  But  you  spoke  of  your  father — he  has 
often  visited  Drogheda,  then,  since  he  knows  it  so 
well  ?" 

A  cloud  passed  over  the  young  man's  face.  "  Yes, 
I  believe  so,"  he  replied  somewhat  coldly,  then  ab- 
ruptly asked  if  Mr.  Ackland  knew  whether  the  Cap- 
tain of  the  San  Pietro  had  yet  returned  to  Italy. 
The  captain,  a  rough  but  kind-hearted  sailor,  had 
been  once  or  twice  to  see  Giacomo  during  his  illness, 
and  the  latter  had,  as  Mr.  Ackland  knew,  given  him 
money  for  the  relief  of  his  distressed  crew  ;  he  him- 
self having  some  trading  connections  in  Drogheda, 
was  like  Giacomo  himself,  the  guest  of  a  private 
family. 

"  He  told  me  when  I  last  saw  him  that  a  few  of  the 
Drogheda  merchants  had  subscribed  enough  amongst 
themselves  to  defray  the  expenses  of  his  crew  back  to 
Leghorn,  and  that  he  would  likely  go  home  at  the 
same  time." 

"  I  believe  he  is  gone,"  said  Mr.  Ackland ;  "  I  heard 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE.  55 

in  town  yesterday,  that  he  and  his  crew  were  to  sail 
to-day  in  the  Lady  Hamilton." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  did  not  see  him,"  said  Giacomo, 
"  perhaps  I  might  have  been  able  to  go  with  him,  and 
I  know  my  lather  will  be  so  anxious — however,  I  gave 
the  captain  a  few  lines  for  him,  telling  him  that  I  am 
almost  well  now,  and  exceedingly  well  cared  for,  so 
that  he  need  not  fear  on  my  account." 

"  But,  tell  me,  Giacomo,"  said  Mr.  Ackland,  "  how 
is  it  that  you  speak  English  so  well,  you  being  bora 
and  brought  up  in  Leghorn.  You  have  only  the  very 
slightest  foreign  accent !" 

"  Oh  !  that  is  nothing  strange.  I  have  been  speak- 
ing English  all  my  life.  Your  language  is  a  good 
deal  spoken  in  Leghorn,  as  in  some  other  ports  on  our 
western  coast.  Pray,  Mr.  Ackland,  in  what  direction 
from  here  are  those  rocks  which  proved  fatal  to  the 
San  Pietro  ?" 

Mr.  Ackland  pointed  in  the  direction  of  Clogher. 
"  There  they  lie,"  said  he,  l-  a  portion  of  the  mighty 
barrier  which  guards  our  Utile  island  from  the  sea's 
incursions.  You  cannot  see  them,  howsver,  but  the 
place  is  well  worthy  of  a  visit,  and  the  ladies  shall 
take  you  down  some  day  when  you  are  well  enough, 
to  see  the  bold  promontory  which  there  juts  far  into 
the  Irish  Sea." 

"  And  the  cave,  grandpapa."  said  Rose  from  the 
doorway  behind,  "  he  must  see  the  cave,  you  know, 
above  all  things,  and  we  shall  have  him  go  down  into 
it,  just  to  try  his  nerves." 


56  THE    OLD    HOUSE    B?    THE    BOYNE. 

"You  are  very  kind,  Miss  Rose,"  said  Giacomo, 
giavely;  "only  wait  till  I  have  full  command  of  my 
feet  again,  and  you  shall  see  that  my  nerves  will  not 
fail  me." 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,  Signor,"  for  so  Rose 
persisted  in  calling  him,  "wait  till  you  ha?e  clam- 
bered down  over  the  side-face  of  Clogher  Head  into 
the  cave." 

"  What  sort  of  cave  may  it  be  ?" 

"  Oh  !  as  for  that,  you  must  wait  till  you  see  it.  I 
can't  take  the  trouble  of  describing  it.  But  it's  a 
pirate's  cave,  you  understand,  where  those  sea-rovers 
used  to  hide  their  booty  long  ago.  The  sailors  and 
fishermen  about  here  tell  all  manner  of  strange,  and 
some  of  them  frightful,  stories  about  it.  It  is  easy 
seen  that  you  are  a  stranger  here,  or  you'd  be  sure 
to  have  heard  of  the  Pirate's  Cave  at  Clogher." 

"  You  have  quite  excited  my  curiosity,  Miss  Rose. 
I  must  visit  the  cave,  by  all  means,  before  I  leave  the 
aeighborhood." 

"  Oh  !  we  have  more  than  that  to  show  you  about 
Drogheda.     Have  we  not,  grandpapa  ?" 

"  What  did  you  say,  Rosey  ?" 

"  I  was  telling  the  Signor,  grandpapa,  about  the 
Pirate's  Cave  at  Clogher,  and  I  asked  you  if  we 
hadn't  many  other  places  of  interest  to  show  him  as 

well  as  that." 

'  Of  course  we  have,  Rosey,  and  I  must  speak  to 
your  aunt  about  taking  Giacomo  to  see  our  Drogheda 
lions  as  soon  as  he  is  able." 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  67 

"  Oh  !  that  reminds  me,  grandpapa,"  said  the  vola- 
tile Ros&,  taking  hold  of  his  arm,  "Aunt  Lydia  thinks 
it  is  time  for  you  and  the  Signor  to  come  in.  It  is  al- 
most dark,  you  see,  and  the  evening  is  damp  and  chill. 

"  It  is  well  you  thought  of  your  message  even  now, 
you  little  chattering  magpie,"  said  the  fond  parent, 
stroking  her  hair  with  his  large  hand,  as  he  rose,  and, 
motioning  his  guest  to  go  before,  proceeded  along 
the  hall  to  that  "  room  of  the  household,"  a  sort  of 
back-parlor,  where  most  of  his  in-door  hours  were 
spent.  The  contrast  between  the  warm,  cheerful 
room  within,  and  the  cold,  hazy  twilight  without,  was 
very  pleasant,  and  as  Giacomo  took  the  place  pointed 
out  to  him  at  one  side  of  the  fireplace,  while  Mr. 
Ackland  occupied  the  other  in  his  arm-chair,  he  looked 
around  with  an  exquisite  feeling  of  comfort  almost 
unknown  before.  Fireside  enjoyments  are  little 
known  in  sunny  Italy. 

After  tea,  Mr.  Ackland  proposed  a  game  of  chess ; 
Giacomo  did  not  play  chess ;  backgammon,  then,  or 
draughts  ?  No,  but  he  would  like  to  learn,  if  any 
one  were  kind  enough  to  take  the  trouble  of  teach- 
ing him.  Whether  intentionally  or  not,  he  looked  at 
Rose,  but  Rose  answering  the  look  said  very  curtly — 

"Not  I,  anyhow;  I  hate  chess,  draughts,  back- 
gammon and  the  whole  tribe  of  '  games ;'  they  are 
all  so  prosy  and  so  tiresome.  I  wonder  at  you,  Sig- 
nor, to  think  of  learning  such  old-fashioned  games 
at  your  time  of  life.  Pray,  how  old  are  you,  Signoi 
GUcomo  ?" 


58  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

"  Some  months  over  twenty,"  said  Giacomo,  smiling 
at  the  odd  brusquerie  of  the  girl's  manner.  *'  I  shall 
soon  be  twenty-one." 

"  Dear  me !  how  old  you  are  !  Why,  I  thought 
you  were  no  older  than  I  am  ! — well,  after  all,  I  wish 
/  was  twenty  !" 

"My  dear  Rose,"  said  her  aunt,  "  how  you  do  rat- 
tle on  !  Suppose  you  were  twenty,  it  is  very  possible 
you  might  wish  yourself  back  at  rosy  eighteen,  or 
younger  still.  Go  bring  the  backgammon-box ;  since 
you  will  not  undertake  to  teach  Giacomo,  I  will." 

"  Very  well,  then,  I'll  play  ball  with  pussy,"  pro 
ducing  a  woollen  ball  she  had  made  for  the  purpose. 
"  Signor  Giacomo,  are  you  fond  of  cats  ?" 

"Not  very,"  and  Giacomo  tried  to  maintain  his 
gravity;  "I  see  you  have  a  very  fine  specimen  of  the 
tribe  here,"  glancing  at  Tab  where  she  sat  on  the  arm 
of  the  old  gentleman's  chair. 

"  I  only  wish  you  could  convince  old  Nancy  of  that. 
Do  you  know  she  has  got  a  notion  into  her  head  that 
our  poor  old  Tab  is  an  enchanted  Dane,  or  something 
of  the  kind?" 

"  An  enchanted  Dane !  how  would  she  make  that 
out?" 

"  Oh  !  I  forgot  that  you  weren't  brought  up  in  this 
country.  You  have  read,  though,  of  how  the  Danes 
used  to  invade  Ireland  every  once  in  a  while,  and  stay 
in  it,  in  full  possession,  as  long  as  the  kings  and  chiefa 
would  let  them  ?"     Giacomo  assented. 

"  Well  I  it's  a  common  belief  in  many  parts  of  the 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE.  59 

country — that  is  amongst  the  peasantry,  and  so  forth— 
that  there  are  Danish  treasures  hidden  away  in  eve/ 
so  many  places,  and  guarded  by  magic  spells." 

"  Is  it  possible  that  such  things  are  believed  in 
Ireland  ?" 

"  Possible !  yes,  indeed,  it  is,  very  possible  and  very 
true,  and,  moreover,  certain  of  the  cats  are  supposed 
to  be  enchanted  Danes.  Oh !  here  comes  Nancy— 
you  shall  hear  her  opinion  of  Tab.  Now,  pray  at- 
tend." Then  raising  her  voice  she  went  on — "  You 
must  know,  Signor,  that  Nancy  believes  our  Tab  to 
be  an  enchanted  Dane." 

"  An'  worse  than  that,  Miss  Rosey,"  said  the  old 
woman,  laying  down  some  wood  on  the  hearth. 

"  Indeed,  Nancy,  and  pray  what  worse  can  she  be?" 
asked  Giacomo,  at  a  sign  from  Rose. 

"  Well !  that's  what  I  wouldn't  care  to  tell  you,  sir. 
and  herself  to  the  fore.  Some  other  time,"  and  she 
was  moving  away. 

"  No,  no,  Nancy,  that  won't  do — tell  it  now  !"  cried 
Rose,  "  I'll  soon  put  Tab  out  of  hearing !"  and  she 
hastened  to  put  the  cat,  poor  harmless  creature,  out- 
side the  door. 

"How  is  this,  Rosey?  what  are  you  about  ?"  asked 
her  grandpapa,  surprised  at  this  unceremonious  treat- 
ment of  his  favorite. 

Rose  explained  the  matter  to  his  satisfaction,  and 
he  closed  his  eyes  for  a  comfortable  nap  during 
Nancy's  recital.  He  always  closed  his  ears  against 
her  malicious  insinuations  in  regard  to  Tabby. 


60         THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

So  Nancy  crouching  beside  Miss  Rose  in  her  fa< 
vorite  attitude,  with  her  elbow  resting  on  one  knee, 
and  her  chin  on  her  hand,  began  to  tell  how  "  a  stu- 
dent was  travelling  in  foreign  parts,  in  Jarmany  or 
somewhere  there,  an'  bein'  benighted  in  a  forest,  he 
wandhered  on  ever  till  at  last  he  came  to  a  fine  grand 
house,  an'  when  he  rang  the  bell,  an'  tould  his  story, 
they  recaved  him  kindly,  an'  made  him  welcome  to 
stay  over  night,  an'  take  share  of  the  best  they  had. 
How,  when  supper-time  came,  he  was  brought  to  table 
with  the  rest,  and  the  first  thing  he  seen  was  a  great 
big  cat,  sittin'  in  a  chair  beside  the  fine  dacent  ould 
gentleman  that  was  in  it,  the  father  of  the  family. 
Well,  the  student  watched  the  cat,  all  the  time  the 
supper  was  going  on,  and  saw  that  her  master  gave 
her  the  first  of  everything  he  put  on  his  plate,  and 
that  if  he  forgot  it  any  time,  she  would  slap  his  arm 
with  her  paw,  and  grind  her  teeth,  her  eyes  blazin' 
like  live  coals.  So  the  student  asked  how  long  the 
cat  had  been  in  the  house,  and  why  the  ould  gentle- 
man had  made  such  a  pet  of  her,  and  was  told  that 
she  was  there  in  his  father's  and  grandfather's  time, 
and  was  just  as  great  a  pet  with  every  one  of  them. 
With  that  the  student  told  them  that  it  wasn't  a  cat, 
at  all,  that  was  in  it,  but  an  evil  sperit,  and  that  if 
they'd  give  him  leave  he'd  prove  it  to  them  that  very 
uight.  Well,  to  be  sure,  the  ould  gentleman,  in  par- 
ticular, was  very  angry  that  such  a  thing  should  be 
Baid  of  his  cat,  and  the  student  had  hard  work  to  get 
him  persuaded ;  but  at  last  he  bid  him  look  at  the 


THE    OLD    H5USE   BY   THE    BOTNE.  61 

eat,   and,    sure   enough,  she    was   ragin'   mad,  and 
looked  as  if  she  would  tear  the  stranger  to  pieces, 
gettin'  closer  and  closer  to  the  ould  gentleman.     So, 
at  long  last,  he  gave  in,  and  the  student  made  them 
bring  some  holy  water,  an'  took  the  ould  gentleman 
an1  the  rest  of  the  family  with  him  in  a  round  ring 
he  made  with  it  on  the  floor,  and  then  he  pulled  out 
his  book  and  began  a-readin',  an'  after  he  had  read  a 
good  while,  till  the  sweat  was  runnin'  down  his  face, 
the  thing — for,  of  coorse,  it  wasn't  a  cat — went  off  in 
a  flame  of  fire,  an'  took  part  of  the  side-wall  with  it. 
How  the  student  told  them  then  that  it  was  an  evil 
sperit  that  had  haunted  the  house  for  ever  so  many 
years,  and  that  he  got  the  souls  of  the  father  and 
grandfather,  and  would  have  had  the  grandson,  too, 
Tf  God  hadn't  sent  him  that  way  with  power  to  de- 
liver him.     And,  finally,  how  the  ould  gentleman  and 
his  family  didn't  know  what  on  earth  to  make  of  the 
student,  they  were  so  thankful,  but  they  couldn't  get 
him  to  stay  past  the  one  night,  and  he  left  them  in 
the  mornin1,    after  givin'  them  all  his  blessin',  an1 
tellin'  them  they'd  never  be  troubled  any  more  with 
the  evil  sperit."     "  So  now,"  added  Nancy,  "  you  may 
all  see  that  it  isn't  a  lucky  thing  to  be  makin'  so  much 
of  a  brute  baste— it's  against  nature,  so  it  is,  an'  God 
grant  the  master  may  never  be  sorry  for  doin'  it! 
But  the  quality  must  see  their  hobby  out,  let  it  be 
what  it  may." 

A  becoming  degree  of  horror  was  expressed  by 
Giacomo,  much  to  Nancy's  satisfaction,  and  she  was 


62  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE. 

leaving  the  room  in  a  state  of  comfortable  compla 
cency,  when  Rose,  having  slily  opened  the  door, 
and  brought  in  the  cat  from  the  hall  where  she 
found  her  as  if  waiting  for  re-admission,  managed 
to  get  in  the  rear  of  Nancy,  and  placed  Tab  on  the 
old  woman's  back,  with  her  paws  round  her  neck. 
Little  expecting  such  a  salute,  Nancy  screamed,  try- 
ing in  vain  to  shake  off  the  cat,  whose  claws  stuck 
fast  in  her  woollen  kerchief,  and  it  was  not  till  Miss 
Ackland  came  to  her  assistance  that  she  succeeded  in 
her  desperate  efforts  to  release  herself  from  the 
strange  embrace ;  Rose  had  made  her  escape  laugh- 
ing, and  poor  Nancy  was  left  under  the  impression 
that  the  cat  had  come  back  purposely  to  hear  the 
story,  and  had  thus  shown  her  anger  for  the  liberty 
taken  with  the  feline  race. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

November  was  drawing  to  a  close  by  the  time  Gin- 
como  was  able  to  walk  abroad,  and  although  he  natu- 
rally felt  anxious  to  return  home,  and  was,  moreover, 
conscious  that  he  had  trespassed  too  long  on  the 
kind  hospitality  of  his  new  friends,  he  found  it  no  so 
easy  matter  to  get  away.  In  the  first  place,  the 
weather  was  not  favorable,  as  he  was  duly  and  fre- 
quently informed  by  Mr.  Ackland  or  his  daughter,  in  a 
tone  of  mock  condolence  that  was  sufficiently  amusing. 
As  for  Rose,  she  did  not  appear  to  trouble  herself 
much  about  the  matter.  In  the  next  place,  he  was 
constantly  reminded  that  he  had,  as  yet,  seen  nothing 
of  the  old  borough,  its  people,  or  its  ways,  and  see  it 
he  must  and  should.  So  said  Miss  Ackland,  in  her 
gentle  but  decided  way,  and  Giacomo  was  fain  to 
obey. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Ackland  one  morning  at  break- 
fast, "  now  that  our  young  friend  has  consented  to 
remain  with  us  over  Christmas,  and  see  the  sights, 
what  is  your  programme  for  the  exhibition,  Lydia  ?" 

"  For  the  churches,  papa,  and  other  objects  of  reli- 
gious interest  I  mean  to  place  Giacomo  in  the  hands 


64  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

of  Jemmy  Nulty,  who  undoubtedly  belongs,  himself 
to  the  same  category." 

"  Very  true,  Lydia,  very  true ;  and  what  then  ?" 

"Oh!  as  for  the  rest  we  shall  ourselves  do  the 
honors — that  is  Rose  and  I." 

"  You  are  really  very  good,  Aunt  Lydia,"  pouted 
Rose,  "  you  do  me  a  great  deal  of  honor,  but  I  don't 
think  I  should  make  a  good  ciccrona." 

"  And  why,  pray  ?" 

"  Why,  because  I  hate  playing  the  guide,  that's  all, 
and  I  know  that  if  I  went  with  you,  I  should  have  to 
do  most  of  the  talking." 

"  Dear  me,  Rose,"  said  her  aunt  with  a  smile, 
"  when  did  you  begin  to  dislike  talking  ?  Still,  I 
don't  wonder,  for,  I  suppose,  even  tongues  will  tire, 
and  you  have  been  chattering  so  much  of  late  that 
yours  must  need  a  little  rest." 

The  individual  selected  by  Miss  Ackland  as  Gia- 
como's  guide  to  the  churches  was  a  character  not  to 
be  met  with  outside  of  Ireland,  perhaps,  we  might 
6ay,  outside  of  Drogheda.  He  was  by  profession  a 
pilgrim,  which,  in  the  Irish  acceptation,  means  a  lay 
person,  whether  man  or  woman,  who  devotes  his  or 
iter  life  to  worKS  of  piety,  including,  of  course,  fre* 
quent  "journeys"  to  Lough  Derg  and  other  famous 
pilgrimages.  Some  of  these  "  pilgrims"  are  not  sin- 
cere in  their  professions  of  extraordinary  piety,  but 
such  was  not  the  case  with  Jemmy  Nulty,  for  Jemmy 
was  "  an  Israelite,  indeed,  in  whom  there  was  no 
guile,"  and,  although  the  simplicity  of  the  dove  was 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYJ  E.  65 

his,  not  a  particle  had  he  of  the  cunning  of  the  ser- 
pent. A  man  full  of  faith  and  full  of  charity  was  our 
Drogheda  "pilgrim,"  believing  ail  things  that  reli- 
gion teaches,  and  thinking  no  evil  of  man,  woman,  or 
child  ;  to  Jemmy  Nulty  all  the  world  presented  itself 
through  the  silver  veil  of  charity,  and,  knowing  no 
evil  in  himself,  he  could  not  see  it  in  others,  or,  see- 
ing, beheld  it  afar  off  as  in  a  mirror,  something  dim 
and  undefined  to  his  simple,  upright  mind.  For  the 
rest,  Jemmy  had  no  very  great  temptation  to  make 
a  trade  of  hypocrisy,  for  he  and  a  brother,  as  pious 
and  unworldly  as  himself,  who  lived  with  him,  and 
was,  we  believe,  his  only  relative,  were  the  joint 
owners  of  a  small  cottage  in  the  suburbs  "  out  West 
Gate,"  with  some  other  resources,  which,  though  tri- 
fling in  themselves,  were  amply  sufficient  for  the  few 
wants  of  this  primitive  pair.  A  little  before  the 
time  of  which  we  speak,  Jemmy  had  become  the  sole 
proprietor  of  the  little  domicile,  the  mortal  part  of 
his  brother  Phil  having  gone  to  rest  in  the  shadow 
of  the  old  Dominican  Abbey  in  The  Cord  "  out  Law- 
rence's Gate ;"  his  spirit  being  taken  to  heaven  by 
the  blessed  angels,  as  certain  of  the  neighbors  had 
seen  "  with  their  own  eyes"  one  clear  summer  night, 
when  the  moon  was  high,  and  the  winds  were  asleep, 
and  the  river  and  the  sea,  and  the  slumbering  earth 
reflected  the  beauty  and  the  light  of  heaven.  All 
that  was  earthly  in  Jemmy  Nulty's  heart  died  out 
with  Phil's  gentle  life,  and  ever  after  the  old  man 
lived  more  with  the  blessed  inhabitants  of  the  weld 


66  THE   OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE   BOYNE. 

beyond  the  stars  than  his  fellow-mortals  on  earth. 
All  that  he  loved  here  below  were  the  good  friars 
who  ministered  at  the  altars  of  the  chapels  he  most 
frequented,  and  "  the  dear  nuns,"  that  is  to  say,  the 
Sisters  of  the  Presentation  and  Dominican  Orders, 
who  greatly  favored  the  old  man  by  supplying  him 
with  scapulars  and  other  relis^us  objects,  not  only 
for  his  own  private  and  personal  use,  but  to  distri- 
bute to  the  piously-disposed  friends  and  patrons  by 
whom  he  was  lodged  and  kindly  entertained  during 
his  pilgrimages  hither  and  thither.*  The  few  fami- 
lies in  his  native  town  who  were  habitually  visited 
by  Jemmy  regarded  themselves  as  highly  honored, 
and  the  Acklands  were  so  fortunate  as  to  be  of  the 
number. 

Such,  in  his  general  character,  was  Jemmy  Nulty, 
when  he  came  at  Miss  Ackland's  bidding  one  morn- 
jig  a  day  or  two  after  the  conversation  just  men- 
tioned. But  the  distinctive  individuality  of  the  man 
struck  our  young  Italian  with  surprise  when  he 
walked  with  only  a  "  God  save  all  here  !"  into  the 
front  parlor  where,  as  being  the  most  cheerful  room 
on  the  ground-floor,  such  of  the  family  as  were  in- 
doors usually  spent  their  mornings.  Jemmy's  attire 
was  a  long  dark-colored  surtout,  not  much  the  worse 

*Amongst  the  most  pleasing  recollections  of  the  author's 
Childish  days  was  the  summer-visit  of  this  identical  "  pilgrim," 
on  his  way  to  "  Lough  Dhar-rog,"  as  he  was  wont  to  pronounce 
Lough  Derg.  Few  visitors  were  so  warmly  welcomed  by  young 
or  old  in  that  "  old  house  at  home/' 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE.  67 

for  wear,  but  hanging  loosely  about  his  tall,  and  some* 
what  heavy  frame,  for  Jemmy  was  a  man  of  large 
proportions ;  this  garment,  with  a  long  waistcoat,  or 
vest  to  match,  knee-breeches,  also  of  a  dark  color, 
worsted  stockings,  and  the  national  "  brogues'1  of 
the  Irish  peasantry,  constituted  Jemmy's  apparel  all 
the  year  round,  Sunday  and  holiday,  wrinter  and  sum- 
mer. The  happy  smile  that  was  on  his  face  was  pe- 
culiar to  himself;  it  was  the  light  from  within  shin- 
ing out  on  features  that,  wanting  it,  would  have  been 
stolid  and  unmeaning.  Jemmy  was  smiling,  then, 
and  Giacomo  thought  it  was  only  for  the  occasion, 
but  he  soon  found  that  the  smile  never  left  the  good 
man's  face,  being,  indeed,  its  habitual  expression. 

"  God  save  all  here !"  said  Jemmy,  opening  the 
parlor-door,  and  Miss  Ackland  responded  with  the 
fitting  "  God  save  you  kindly,  Jemmy  !"  as  naturally 
as  though  she  had  been  born  and  bred  amongst  the 
lowly.  With  perfect  ease  and  self-possession,  the  old 
man  saluted  Mr.  Ackland,  raising  his  voice  to  just 
the  pitch  that  was  adapted  to  his  hearing. 

"  I  met  Miss  Hose  abroad  in  the  garden,  as  I  came 
in  the  back  way,"  said  Jemmy;  "  the  dear  young  lady 
is  as  fresh  as  a  rose  this  mornin'." 

"Yes,  Jemmy,  she  spends  good  part  of  her  time 
out  doors."  said  Miss  Ackland.  "I  am  glad  you 
came  so  early,  Jemmy,  for  I  want  you  very  particu- 
larly." 

"  Ah,  then,  I'd  have  been  here  sooner,  Miss,"  said 
Jemmy,  "  only  that  I  happened  to  meet  Father  Dardi* 


§8         THE  OLD  HOUSE  BT  THE  BOYNE. 

jist  as  I  came  out  Lawrence's  Gate,  and  the  deai  gen» 
tleman  asked  me  to  go  before  him  to  a  house 
where  he  was  goin'  on  a  sick-call,  to  see  that  things 
were  a  little  bit  dacent  for  what  he  was  bringin'  with 
him.     So,  of  coorse,  I  had  to  go." 

"  Of  course,  Jemmy,  of  course ;  but  now  I  must 
tell  you  why  I  sent  for  you.  This  young  gentleman 
whom  you  see  here  is  an  Italian,  and  a  Catholic — a 
good  one,  too,  Jemmy, — and  as  he  has  seen  none  of 
the  chapels  (except  the  High  Lane  where  he  has  been 
at  Mass  once  or  twice  with  us)  I  want  you  to  take 
him  round  them  all,  and  be  sure  you  show  him 
everything  about  them  and  the  convents  that  is 
worth  seeing." 

"  Oh !  indeed,  an'  I'll  do  that,  Miss,"  and  Jemmy 
turned  his  benign  smile  on  Giacomo ;  "  it  was  only 
yesterday  that  a  fisherman  from  Clogher  below  was 
tellin'  me  in  the  priest's  house  at  the  Low  Lane  all 
about  the  dear  young  gentleman,  an'  what  a  power 
o'  money  he  gave  the  Madigans  an'  the  rest  when  he 
went  down  with  you  an'  Miss  Rose  the  other  day  to 
see  them.  He  has  goodness  in  his  face  whoever  he  is. 
Dear  knows,  Miss,  but  he  puts  me  in  mind  of  the 
fine  gentleman  that  came  with  you  an'  your  sister-in- 
law  that's  dead  an'  gone — the  heavens  be  her  bed ! — 
that  was  Miss  Rose's  mother — to  see  me  one  time 
when  I  was  sick." 

Miss  Ackland  changed  color,  as  she  replied  in  a 
tremulous  voice — "  You  entirely  mistake,  Jemmy,  the 
gentleman  you  mean  was  tall,  with  light  hair,  and  this 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  f?9 

young  gentleman  is  much  smaller,  and  of  dark  com- 
plexion." 

"  Well  !  I  suppose  it's  on  my  eyes  it  is ;  they're 
not  so  good  as  they  used  to  be.  I'm  gettin'  oldt 
thanks  an'  praise  be  to  God  for  the  line  long  day  He's 
givin'  me." 

Jemmy  had  a  way  of  speaking  that  was  entirely  his 
own  ;  with  his  eyes  half  closed,  he  let  the  words  flow, 
as  it  were,  from  his  mouth,  with  a  sort  of  hissing 
sound,  in  the  full,  rich  round  accents  of  the  Louth 
peasantry,  generally  with  great  rapidity,  sometimes 
with  great  unction  and  fervor,  his  hands  the  while 
lightly  joined,  not  clasped,  over  his  capacious  chest, 
which  was,  indeed,  his  habitual  attitude,  whether  sit- 
ting, or  standing. 

'•  Will  the  dear  young  gentleman  come  now,  or 
jvouM  he  rayther  wait  for  another  day  ?"  said  Jemmy, 
standing  up. 

"Oh!  certainly,  I  will  go  to-day,"  said  Giacomo; 
"I  couldn't  think  of  troubling  vou  to  come  asrain  on 
my  account." 

"  Oh  !  my  dear,  it's  no  trouble  in  lii'e  to  me — sure, 
it's  proud  nnd  happy  I  an  to  show  the  chapels  an' 
things,  for  the  glory  of  God  an'  His  ble.;sed  Mother, 
an'  all  the  holy  Saints." 

"  Jemmy,"  said  Mr.  Ackland,  whilst  Giacomo  was 
gone  to  prepare  for  going  out,  "  what  about  that  neigh- 
bor of  yours  whose  cow  broke  into  your  little  garden 
and  eat  your  cabbages?  I  hope  yen  are  going  to 
pro?ecu4e  him  ?" 


TO  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

"  Is  it  me,  your  honor  ?"  said  Jemmy,  and  for  a 
moment  the  smile  left  his  face,  so  great  was  his  dis- 
may at  the  bare  idea  of  "  going  to  law" — "  is  it  me 
take  the  law  of  the  poor  dear  man  bekase  his  cow 
broke  into  the  little  garden  I  have  ! — No,  dear  sir,  I 
wouldn't  do  it  if  she  ate  every  green  leaf  that  was  in 
it.     Sure  it  wasn't  the  dear  man's  fault,  any  way.'' 

"  But  they  say  it  was  his  fault,  Jemmy,  for  that  you 
asked  him  once  or  twice  to  repair  the  fence  between 
his  yard  and  your  garden,  and  the  lazy,  worthless 
fellow  couldn't  be  got  to  do  it.  Come,  now,  Jemmy, 
did  you,  or  did  you  not  ask  him  to  repair  the  fence  ?" 

Jemmy  was  fairly  cornered,  but  his  charity  was  not 
to  be  overcome.  "  Och  !  well,  I  suppose  I  did,  for 
the  poor  thing  used  to  be  comin'  in  very  often,  you 
see,  lookin'  for  the  bit  to  ate,  but  sure  he  hadn't  time, 
Mr.  Ackland,  if  he  had  he'd  have  done  it,  I'll  go  bail. 
He  has  to  work  hard,  sir,  to  keep  so  many  mouths 
fed.  Well  !  I'll  be  biddin'  you  good  mornin',  Mr. 
Ackland,  an'  you,  too,  dear  lady,"  turning  to  Miss 
Ackland,  who  had  listened  much  amused  to  Jemmy's 
ingenious  defence  of  the  neighbor  and  his  trespass- 
ing cow. 

As  Giaoomo  and  his  guide  emerged  from  the  hall- 
door,  they  beheld  Rose  in  shawl  and  bonnet  tripping 
down  the  steps  before  them.  "  What  a  strange  girl 
she  is,"  thought  the  young  Italian,  "  can  she  mean  to 
go  with  us  after  all  ?" 

But  she  meant  no  such  thing;  having  reached  the 
gate  below  she  stopped  a  moment,  turned,  and  smU 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYXE.  71 

ing  waved  her  hand,  then  turned  off  down  the  Boyne 
road,  in  the  opposite  direction  to  that  which  the  others 
were  to  take,  and  was  quickly  lost  to  view.  "  I  wish 
she  had  come,"'  was  the  young  man's  next  thought; 
:  after  all,  I  fear  it  will  be  dull  work  this  visiting 
ohe  churches — or  chapels  as  they  call  them — with  this 
good  man  for  all  company.1' 

It  was  not  so  dull  as  Giacomo  expected,  for  Jem- 
my Nulty  grew  eloquent  when  expatiating  on  any- 
thing appertaining  to  religion  or  religious  worship, 
and  although  the  chapels  of  Droghedawere  not  then 
what  other  ages  had  seen  there,  being  plain,  and,  for 
the  most  part,  little  indebted  to  art  for  style  or 
beauty,  yet  to  Jemmy's  enthusiastic  imagination  they 
were  worthy  of  all  praise,  and  where  no  grace  or 
beauty  was  visible  to  other  eyes,  he  saw,  and  glow- 
ingly described  it.  They  visited  in  turn  the  Francis- 
can Chapel  in  the  High  Lane,  off  St.  Lawrence  street, 
the  Augustinian  Chapel  in  the  Low  Lane,  off  Shop 
street,  and  the  Dominican  Chapd  in  a  court  adjoin- 
ing Linenhall  street.  Giacomo,  accustomed  to  the 
richly  adorned  churches  of  Italy,  saw  little  to  admire 
in  these,  but  he  could  not  bear  to  say  so  to  his  simple- 
hearted  guide,  who  having  never  seen  finer,  or  so  tine 
anywhere  else,  could  hardly  realize  that  finer  were  to 
be  seen  even  in  foreign  parts,  "  barrin"  it  might  be  in 
Iioome."  The  parish  chapel  in  West  street,  being 
larger,  impressed  Giacomo  more,  and  he  said — "This 
is  a  nice  little  church.': 

"  You  mane  chapel"  said  Jemmy,  with  unwonted 


72  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TIIE    BOTNE. 

eagerness,  "  it's  the  Prodestatits  that  has  the  churches,— 
it's  chapels  we  call  ours.  Don't  say  '  church,'  dear, 
nekase  that's  a  Prodestant  word,  you  see." 

Corrected,  but  not  instructed,  Giacomo  smiled  as 
he  turned  to  take  a  look  at  the  pictures,  and  then, 
kneeling  a  moment  before  the  altar  where  Jemmy 
was  bowing  down  in  rapt  devotion,  the  young  man 
thanked  God  for  that  blessed  unity  of  faith  by  which 
the  Catholic  sees  everywhere  through  life  the  same 
objects  of  pious  veneration,  the  same  sacred  images 
of  saints  and  martyrs,  of  the  Virgin  Mother  and  her 
Divine  Child,  and  the  pictured  story  of  the  sublime 
tragedy  of  man's  redemption  which  earliest  fixed  his 
gaze,  and  stamped  the  mysteries  of  faith  on  his  infant 
mind.  Softened  even  to  tears,  he  bowed  his  head  in 
lowly  reverence  before  a  picture  of  the  Divine  Mother, 
and  breathed  a  prayer  for  the  soul  of  the  earthly  mo- 
ther who  had  taught  him  to  love  that  heavenly  queen. 
"  Now,  dear,"  said  Jemmy,  when,  leaving  the  parish 
chapel,  they  turned  up  Peter  street,  <l  now  we'll  go 
an'  take  a  look  at  the  Presentation  Convent  in  Fair 
street,  an',  after  that,  we'll  go  to  the  Sienna  Convent, 
out  La'rence's  Gate  there,  where  you'll  see  the  skull 
of  the  blessed  an'  holy  martyr,  Oliver  Plunket.  You 
know  who  he  was,  I  suppose  ?" 

Unluckily,  Giacomo  did  not  know,  but  he  shrank 
from  saying  so,  and  Jemmy  went  on :  "  That  was  the 
holy  Archbishop  of  Armagh  that  was  hung  in  Lun'- 
nun  beyant  on  account  of  his  religion." 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  73 

"  What  wicked  people  those  must  have  been  who 
out  him  to  death,  and  such  a  death  as  that !" 

"  Oh  !  poor  things,  poor  things,  it's  blind  they  were, 
not  wicked.  Maybe  it's  jist  as  bad  we'd  be  ourselves 
if  we  hadn't  the  light  of  faith  to  guide  us.  Wasn't  it 
what  Oar  dear  Lord  said  on  the  cross  when  He 
prayed  for  His  enemies — '  Father,  forgive  them  for 
they  know  not  what  they  do  ?'  An'  sure  it  was  the 
same  with  the  poor  things  that  hu  ig  the  blessed  an' 
holy  archbishop?  Oh!  God  help  us  all,  it's  poor, 
poor  cratures  we'd  be  if  we  were  left  to  ourselves, 
anyway  !" 

It  was  with  a  strange  feeling  of  awe  and  reverence 
that  Giacomo  gazed  on  the  ghastly  object,  so  care- 
fully preserved  by  the  Dominican  nuns  of  Drogheda, 
in  a  rich  and  elegant  case.  "  There,"  thought  he,  "  is 
the  casket  that  once  contained  God's  noblest  work, 
the  thoughtful  mind  of  man,  and  of  a  great  and  good 
man — a  man  who  had  the  courage  to  die  for  his  faith." 
Long  he  stood,  lost  in  thought,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
vacant  "  throne  of  the  mind,"  still  bearing  in  its  con- 
formation visible  traces  of  the  inflexible  will,  the  in- 
domitable energy,  the  intellectual  superiority  which 
distinguished  the  martyred  primate  of  Ireland  in  the 
ill-omened  reign  of  Charles  the  Second. 

At  length  Jemmy  touched  his  arm,  and  whispered 
that  they  had  other  places  to  go  yet,  and  the  night 
would  soon  be  closing  in,  if  they  didn't  hurry.  So, 
thanking  the  polite  and  affable  religious,  who,  in  her 
capacious  habit  of  white  serge,  had  been  patiently 


74  THE    OLD    hOuSE    BY    1AE    BOYNA. 

standing  by,  after  "  showing  the  house"  to  the  strange 
gentleman, — more  from  courtesy  than  necessity,  when 
Jemmy  was  with  him — Giacomo  followed  his  guide 
to  The  Cord  to  examine  the  little  that  remains  of  the 
old  Dominican  Abbey ;  it  was  only  a  stretch  of  gray, 
or  rather  blackened  wall — 

"  The  ruin  that  Time  and  the  tempest  had  spared," 

but  it  impressed  the  reverential  mind  of  our  young 
Italian  with  deep  soxemnity,  being  the  first  that  he 
had  seen  of  those  numerous  remains  of  ancient  piety 
for  which  he  had  heard  Ireland  was  famous. 

Turning,  at  length,  to  make  some  remark  to  his 
companion,  he  was  surprised  to  find  that  he  had  van- 
ished from  his  side,  and  it  was  some  time  before  he 
discovered  him  kneeling  on  a  grave  at  the  other  side 
of  the  Abbey- wall. 

"  Some  relative  of  yours,  I  suppose,  Jemmy  ?"  in- 
quired Giacomo. 

"  My  brother,  sir, — poor  Phil,  that  was — he  was  all 
I  had  on  earth,  but,  thank  God!  he's  gone  home  be- 
fore me.  Well !  dear  sir,  have  you  seen  enough  for 
this  day,  or  will  you  go  any  farther  ? 

"  I  think  not,  Jemmy,  for,"  looking  at  his  watch,  "  I 
find  it  is  almost  three  o'clock,  and  that  is  dinner- 
hour  at  Mr.  Ackland's.  But  what  church  is  that  ?': 
pointing  t )  a  tower  and  steeple  which  occupied  a 
commanding  position  in  the  northern  part  of  the 
town. 

u  That  ?"  said  Jemmy,  looking  at  the  object  as 
usual  with  half  closed  eyes,  "oh!  that's  St.  Peter's 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  75 

Church,  a  Prodestan'  church,  sir,  an'  more's  the  pity 
for  it  to  have  a  sai  it's  name,  an'  St.  Peter's  above 
all,  in  regard  to  him  bein'  the  first  Pope,  an'  the 
rock  the  true  Church  is  built  on  !  Well !  well !  it's  a 
quare  world,  anyhow!  But  I  suppose  you  often 
hard  tell  of  Oliver  Crummel  that  put  thousands  an' 
thousands  of  poor  cratures  to  death  for  no  other 
rason  but  bekase  they  were  Catholics  ?"  Yes,  Gia- 
como  had  heard  and  read  of  him.  "  Well !  dear, 
when  he  brought  his  sojers  an'  his  guns  an'  his  whole 
army  here  to  take  Drogheda,  an'  got  in,  afther  a  hard 
fight  an'  a  long  siege  of  it,  there  below  at  St.  Mary's 
Church— Prodestant  too,  you  see,  like  St.  Peter's  !— 
didn't  he  burn  up  hundreds  an'  thousands  of  poor 
Christians  in  the  steeple  of  that  very  church  where 
the  cratures  went  up  thinkin'  to  hide  themselves. 
Well !  well !  that  was  a  bad  deed  !" 

«  A  bad  deed/'  said  Giacomo,  the  hot  blood  rush- 
ing to  his  cheek  and  brow  !— "  Why  it  was  a  devilish 
deed,  and  the  man  that  did  it  must  have  been  mor« 
devil  than  man  !" 

«  God  knows,  dear,  God  knows  what  he  was,  but, 
anyway,  he's  dead  an'  judged  long  ago,  an'  it's  no 
use  speakin'  hard  of  him  now.''  Poor  Jemmy  Nulty ! 
rare  specimen  of  primitive  charity  and  meekness! 
even  for  Oliver  Cromwell  he  had  no  harsh  words, 
admirable  Christian  philosopher  that  he  was  in  his 
lowly  simplicity  of  heart! 

The  two  had  now  reached  the  road,  the  same  that 
led  to  Mr.  Ackland's  back-gate,  and,  after  pointing  to 


76  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

the  house,  not  very  far  distant,  Jemmy  took  his  leave, 
with  a  kind  and  paternal  benediction,  gently  but 
firmly  refusing  the  silver  crown  that  Giacomo  would 
have  placed  in  his  hand. 

Rose  was  in  the  parlor  feeding  her  linnet  when 
Giacomo  entered;  she  said  without  turning  her  head — 
"  So  you've  got  back.  You  should  have  been  where 
I  was  this  forenoon." 

"  And  where  was  that,  may  I  ask  ?" 

"  Down  at  Baltray,  a  fishing  village  not  far  from 
here;  there's  one  there  wants  badly  to  see  you." 

"  To  see  vie  1  You  surely  are  not  in  earnest,  Mis3 
Rose  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am,  Signor  Giacomo!— there's  an  old  wo- 
man there,  Mabel  by  name,  who  having  heard  of 
your  adventure  has  a  great  curiosity  to  see  you,  and 
see  you  she  must." 

"  She  does  me  honor,"  said  Giacomo  drily.  "  I  had 
no  idea  that  any  one  about  here  could  waste  a  wish 
on  seeing  me — least  of  ad,  the  lady  you  mention." 

"  Come  now,  Signor,  don't  be  ironical ;  Mabel  is  a 
much  more  important  person  with  us  here  than  you 
may  imagine,  and  though  she  be  the  widow  of  a  fish- 
erman, and  the  mother  of  another,  she  is  more  of  a 
lady  by  nature  than  many  wTho  ride  in  their  carriage. 
She  was  an  old  servant  of  my  mother's,  and  I  believe 
ofray  grandmother's,  and  is  as  much  devoted  to  the 
family  still,  as  though  she  had  no  other  ties  on  earth." 

"'  Why,  really,  you  excite  my  curiosity,  Miss  Rose !" 
*aid  Giacomo  in  all  earnestness;  "I  should  like  to  see 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  77 

your  old  woman, — of  course  none  the  less  so  for  liei 
desiring  to  see  /?ie." 

"  Very  well,  you  shall  go  to  Baltray  the  first  fine 
day  that  comes.'' 

During  dinner,  and  the  hour  or  so  that  followed, 
Giacomo's  account  of  his  ramble  through  the  town, 
and  of  Jemmy  Nulty's  glowing  archeological  and 
hagiological  descriptions,  passed  the  time  pleasantly. 
Seated  around  the  fire  in  the  Urge  back  parlor,  "the 
room  of  the  household,"  the  little  circle  was  just  pre- 
pared for  the  enjoyment  of  a  deliciously  quiet  even- 
in**,  each  being  precisely  in  that  mood  when  thought 
finds  ready  expressi  on,  and  memory,  waking  in  the 
genial  ray,  sets  the  old  a-story-telling,  and  the  young 
a-dreaming  while  they  listen  to  ''  the  tales  of  other 
days."'  Miss  Ackland  sat  in  the  deep  shadow  at  one 
corner  of  the  wide  fireplace, — poor  Lydia,  her  lii'e 
was  in  the  shadow  ! — opposite  her  was  Rose,  hah  lean- 
ing against  her  grandfather's  chair,  the  old  gentleman 
and  Giacomo  occupying  the  centre,  in  the  full  light 
of  the  cheerful  blaze.  Rose  had  been  petitioning  her 
grandfather  for  a  story. 

"  Well !  I  will  tell  you  a  story,  Rose,"  said  the  old 
man  out  of  a  pensive,  but  not  painful  reverie;  "I  will 
tell  you  a  story,  if  your  aunt  will  sing  us  a  song.  It's 
long  since  I  heard  my  Lydia  sing." 

Miss  Ackland  smiled,  and  went  at  once  to  the 
piano;  her  father's  wish  had  all  her  life  been  law  to 
her — the  law  of  the  heart.  Running  over  such  a  pre- 
lude as  one  is  apt  to  play  when  they  are  undecided 


78  TIIE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOTNE. 

what  to  sing,  she  turned  a  smiling  look  on  her  father, 
then  commenced  that  most  exquisite  song  of  Moore's 
— "  I  wish  I  was  by  that  dim  lake,7'  adapted  to  one 
of  the  sweetest  of  Irish  melodies — '  Shule  Aroon."* 
IIo w  touchingly  mournful  the  words  art ,  and  how  fully 
iht-y  embodied  the  secret  sorrow  that  preyed  forever 
on  Mis?  Ackland's  heart,  the  reader  may  judge,  as 
also  the  tender  pathos  with  which  she  sang  them : 

"  I  wish  I  was  by  that  dim  lakf, 
Where  sinful  souls  iheir  farewell  take 
Of  this  vain  world,  and  half-way  lie 
In  the  cold  shadow,  t  re  they  die. 
The  re,  there,  far  from  ihee, 
Deceitful  world  !  my  home  should  be  ; 
Where  come  what  might  of  gloom  and  pain, 
False  hope  should  ne'er  deceive  again. 

"  The  lit",  less  sky,  ihe  mournful  sound 
Of  unset  n  waters  falling  round  ; 
The  dry  1>  avts  quiv'ring  o'er  my  head, 
Like  man,  unquiet  e\n  when  dead  ! 
These,  ay  !  these  shall  wean 
My  soul  from  life's  deluding  scene, 
And  turn  each  ihoujjht,  o'ercharged  with  gloom, 
Like  willows,  downward  towards  the  tomb. 

*  How  much  Moore  admired  ihis  fine  air  may  be  judged  from 
the  fact  of  his  having  written  two  songs  to  it,  one  of  which,  that 
mentioned  in  the  text,  is  of  Sir  John  Stepln  nson's  arrangement; 
the  other,  "Alone  in  crowds  I  wander  on,"  may  be;  found  in  the 
supplement  to  the  Irish  Melodies  arrang  d  by  Sir  H-nry  Bishop. 
Gerald  Griffin  has  immortalized  it  by  his  beautiful  song  "  Mj 
Mary  of  the  curling  hair  !" 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  79 

1  As  Lhey  who  to  their  couch  at  night 
Would  win  repose,  first  quench  the  light, 
So  must  the  hopes  that  keep  ihis  breast 
Awake,  be  quench'd,  ere  it  can  rest. 
Cold,  cold  this  h*  art  must  grow, 
Unmoved  by  either  joy  or  woe, 
Like  fr.  ezing  loun  s,  where  all  that's  thrown 
Within  ihfir  cum  nt,  turns  to  stone." 

It  seemed  as  though  the  petrifying  process  referred 
to  iti  the  last  stanza  had  been  going  in  Miss  Ack- 
land's  exterior,  at  least,  while  she  sang,  for  by  the 
tune  she  had  finished  the  song,  her  face  was  pale  and 
rigid  as  that  of  a  marble  statue,  and  nor  tear  nor 
smile  gave  token  of  inward  emotion  as  she  passed 
in  silence  to  her  seat.  A  spell  seemed  even  to  have 
fallen  on  her  hearers,  the  spell  of  human  sympathy, 
evoked  by  the  saddest,  sweetest  sounds  that  Giacomo 
at  least,  had  ever  heard.  Mr.  Ackland  leaned  back 
in  his  chair,  one  hand  shading  his  eyes,  and  so  he  long 
remained,  his  mind  wandering,  doubtless,  in  the  dim 
regions  of  the  past  where  the  dead  do  dwell.  It  was 
Rose  who  fitst  broke  the  silence,  which  she  did  with 
a  mock  sigh  that  was  anything  but  sympathetic. 

"  Dear  me!  Aunt  Lydia,  what  a  doleful  song  that 
was  !  I  protest  I  feel  as  though  I  were  like  Niobe 
turning  into  stone.     How  do  you  feel,  Signor?" 

The  question  was  so  ludicrous  that  it  made  every 
one  smile,  and  then,  the  gloomy  spell  broken,  sun- 
shine came  again,  and,  to  make  sure  of  it,  Rose  said, 
"  I'll  sing  a  song  myself.  What  shall  it  be,  grandpa ? — 
oh!  I  know  just  what  will  suit!"     And,  without  leav- 


80  TI1E    OLD    HOUSE    B 


LOiKE. 


mg  her  seat,  she  trolled  her  merry  lay — it  was  "Lift 
Jet  us  cherish,"  then  deservedly  popular  in  Drogheda 
society. 

"  Why  are  we  f  nd  of  l.uil  and  care  1 — 
Why  choose  the  rankling  thorn  to  wear, 
And  heedless  by  the  lily  stray 
That  blossoms  in  >  nr  way  1" 

repeated  Hose,  after  singing  the  song ;  "  now  that  is 
wrhat  I  call  sensible,  and  I  mean  to  practice  it  all  my 
lifelong!  What  say  you,  Signor  ?  Do  you  believe 
in  people  making  mopes  of  themselves  because  they 
come  upon  some  dark  days  in  life,  or  meet  with  somo 
disappointment  ?" 

Giacomo  did  not  answer ;  he  looked  at  Miss  Ack- 
land,  and  saw  that,  although  she  tried  to  force  a 
smile,  the  effort  cost  her  more  than  she  would  wish 
to  have  noticed. 

'•  Hose,  my  dear,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  as  firm  as  she 
could  make  it,  "  I  sincerely  hope  that  your  philoso- 
phy may  never  be  put  to  any  very  hard  ordeal. 
Happy  are  they  who  Itave  no  'rankling  thorn  to  wear.' 
But,  papa,  you  forget  the  story  you  were  to  tell  u^" 

"  The  story  I  meant  to  tell,  my  dear,  will  only  in- 
terest our  young  friend  here ;  it  is  not  new  to  you  or 
Rose," 

"  Oh !  no  matter  for  that,  grandpapa,"  cried  Rose, 
eagerly,  "  I  do  love  to  hear  you  te.l  a  story,  whether 
I  heard  it  before  or  not." 

"  Well !  Giacomo,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  the 
story  I  am  about  to  tell  you  is  a  true  story,  and  oc« 


TIIE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TT 


BOYN*\ 


SI 


eurred  within  my  own  memory  to  a  family  here  in 
Drogheda  with  whom  I  was  well  acquainted."  He 
paused  a  moment,  and  a  melancholy  smile  flitted  over 
his  face,  as  memory  retraced  the  scenes  he  was  abotrt 
ic  describe. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  There  is  a  family  here  in  Drogheda,"  said  Mr. 
Ackland,  "  with  whom  mine  lived  on  very  intimate 
terms  in  my  young  days.  Their  name  is  Hilton." 
"Oh!  I  know  now,  grandpapa!"  cried  Rose;  her 
grandfather  smiled  and  went  on  :  "  There  were  sev- 
eral brothers  and  sisters  of  these  Hiltons  when  I  was 
a  young  man,  and  as  generally  happens  in  such  cases, 
theirs  was  a  pleasant  home,  and  many  a  happy  even- 
ing I  spent  amongst  them  with  my  poor  sister  who 
is  long  since  dead.  The  Hiltons  were  then,  and 
what  remains  of  them,  are  still,  Protestants,  Episco- 
palians of  the  old  school,  that  is  to  say,  as  near  being 
Catholics  as  any  who  are  not  Catholics  could  be,  with 
those  genial,  old-fashioned  ways,  which  you  oftenest 
find  in  old  Catholic  f  imilies.  They  were  not  to  say 
wealthy,  yet  had  property  sufficient  to  maintain  them 
comfortably,  and  to  some  extent  elegantly,  without 
embarking  in  trade,  of  the  fluctuations  and  vicissi- 
tudes of  which  the  old  gentleman  had  a  hereditary 
horror,  while  the  younger  members  were  rather  dis- 
posed to  look  down  on  commercial  pursuits  and 
'people  in  business'    with  that   unaccountable   con* 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE.  83 

tempt  only  to  be  found  amongst  the  (  gentry'  of  Ire- 
land and  tlie  '  lairds'  of  Scotland." 
"  Yes,  to  be  sure  !"  said  Rose — 

"  '  The  Liird  o'  Cockpen  he's  proud  an'  he's  great'  — 

but  pray  go  on,  grandpapa,  I  never  heard  so  much 
about  the  Hiltons  before." 

"  I  have  said  there  was  a  large  family  of  them  in 
those  early  days  of  mine,  and  many  of  my  pleasantest 
recollections  are  of  boating  parties,  rural  excursions, 
and  social  gatherings  in  winter  evenings,  for  which  wo 
and  others  were  mainly  indebted  to  them,  old  and 
young  as  they  were,— for  the  elders  of  the  family  were 
just  as  fond  of  social  enjoyment  as  the  youngest 
amongst  us.  But  time  passed  on,  and  the  family  cir- 
cle at  The  Grange  (as  their  place  was,  and  is  still, 
called)  began  to  break  up;  the  young  people  married 
and  scattered  away  hither  and  thither ;  two  of  them 
died  unmarried,  and  my  dear  old  friends  were  left  in 
age  with  only  their  eldest  son,  William,  who  had  mar- 
ried early  in  life,  and  when  his  parents  were  at  length 
left  to  the  solitude  of  their  then  lonely  dwelling, 
brought  his  wife  and  three  little  children  to  live  with 
them  at  The  Grange.  Fortunately,  William  Hilton 
and  his  wife  were  both  of  a  cheerful  and  lively  dispo- 
sition, and  they  so  managed  matters  that  the  old 
couple  had.  to  the  last,  as  much  social  enjoyment  as 
their  age  permitted ;  the  house  was  as  pleasant  for 
visitors  as  ever,  and  at  times  the  surviving  members 
of  the  family  came  together  again  from  their  homes, 
more,  or  less   distant,  uivier  the  old  paternal  roofi 


84  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

But  the  time  came  at  last  when  the  parent  stem  was 
broken;  first  the  father,  then,  a  year  or  two  after,  the 
mother,  went  to  sleep  in  the  old  family-vault,  and 
William  Hilton  was  master  of  The  Grange,  By  this 
e'ime  I  had  married,  and  your  mother,  Lydia,  was 
quite  a  favorite  with  Mrs.  Hilton,  as  my  poor  sister 
Rhocla  had  been  with  her  dear  old  mother-in-law  j 
some  fifteen  years  before.  After  the  death  of  the  oM 
people,  The  Grange  did  seem  somewhat  lonely,  and 
my  wife  and  I  spent  as  much  of  our  time  there  as  wp 
could  spare  from  home,  where  we  had  two  little  ones 
yourself,  Lydia,  and  your  brother  Alexander,  Rose'* 
father,  claiming  the  mother's  attention.  But  it  was 
not  in  William's  nature,  or  Susan's  either,  to  be  long 
dull  or  despondent,  and  in  the  course  of  a  year  or  so 
the  old  house  began  to  look  like  itself  again,  and  the 
intimate  friends  of  the  family  began  to  drop  in,  as  of 
old,  for  an  evening's  entctainment.  which  was  cheer- 
fully and  kindly  given  ;  then  others  came,  until  the 
gloom  of  death  was  gradually  banished,  and  the  Hil- 
ton homestead  was  blithe  and  happy  as  ever.  It  was 
just  then- — when  the  sunshine  had,  at  length,  pre- 
vailed over  the  dark  clouds  of  mourning,  and  the 
world  was  again  bright  for  the  Hiltons,  that  a  Strang* 
circumstance  occurred,  which  has  made  their  nam* 
famous  in  our  old  borough." 

Here  the  old  man  stopped  to  stir  up  the  fire  which 
had  been  going  down  somewhat;  Giacomo  drew  a 
long  breath,  as  one  whose  attention  had  been  over- 
■trained,  and  all  of  the  little  circle,  as  if  by  one  com- 


TIIE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOTNE.  85 

mon  impulse,  drew  their  seats  closer  around  the 
hearth.  ':  First,'1  said  Mr.  Ackland,  "  let  us  have  some 
more  wood  on  the  fire — Lydia,  my  dear,  be  so  good 
as  to  ring  !"  Tlie  wood  was  brought,  the  fire  burned 
cheerily,  and  the  story  was  resumed. 

"It  was  one  night  in  mid- winter  that  Mrs.  Hilton 
was  taken  with  some  sudden  illness  of  an  alarming 
nature:  the  whole  household  wa-  quickly  astir,  and 
James,  the  man-servant,  was  sent  into  town  for  the 
family  doctor.  He  had  scarcely  arrived,  and  exam- 
ined his  patient,  when  James  was  again  dispatched 
for  another  physician,  the  most  eminent  in  the  town, 
and  all  night  long  the  two  remained,  watching  the 
symptoms  of  the  strange  disease,  which  baffled  their 
skill,  and  defeated  all  their  efforts  to  arrest  its  pro- 
gress. Towards  morning  the  fatal  truth  was  an- 
nounced to  the  afflicted  husband,  and  the  four  young 
children  were  brought  to  the  bedside  of  their  dying 
mother  to  receive  her  blessing  and  last  farewell,  The 
doctors  left  soon  after,  having  done  all  that  their  art 
could  suggest,  and  all  in  vain,  for  as  they  told  Mr. 
Hilton,  death  was  there,  and  all  the  doctors  in  the 
world  could  do  nothing  for  the  patient.  The  gray 
winter's  dawn  revealed  a  mournful  scene;  the  wife 
and  mother  had  just  departed,  the  voice  of  mourn- 
ing filled  the  house,  and  the  pall  of  death  had  fallen 
again  on  the  so-lately  cheerful  household  of  The 
Grange.  A  little  while  after,  my  wife  and  I  were  there, 
word  having  been  sent  us  of  the  sad  catastrophe,  and 
never  shall  I  forget  the  expression  of  poor  Hilton's 


86  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TIIE    BOYNE. 

face  as,  meeting  us  at  the  door  of  the  death-room,  he 
said — 'She  is  gone — Susan  is  dead!'  What  could 
I  say  what  could  any  one  say  ?  So  I  wrung  his  hai.d 
in  silence  and  followed  him  to  the  bed  where  his  wife 
lay — not  yet  '  laid  out.' 

"  Two  mournful  days,  and  as  many  dreary  nights 
passed  away,  and  then  Susan  Hilton  was  laid  in  the 
family-vault,  by  the  side  of  her  mother-in-law  who 
had  dierl  little  more  than  a  year  before. 

"  The  evening  succeeding  the  funeral,  which  had 
taken  place  early  in  the  day,  Fanny  and  I  went  to 
keep  poor  William  Hilton  company  in  his  now  lonely 
dwelling.  Cheerful  we  could  not  be  ourselves,  and 
we  did  not  try  to  feign  what  would  have  been  un- 
natural, and  painful  to  the  heart  stricken  mourner. 
So  after  the  children  were  gone  to  bed,  my  wife  her- 
self going  up  to  see  them  comfortably  settled  for  the 
night,  we  three  sat  together  by  the  fireside  in  the 
parlor  where  so  many  happy  hours  had  been  spent, 
talking  of  her  who  was  taken  so  suddenly  from  our 
midst— recalling  her  fine  and  amiable  qualities,  and 
dwelling  with  mournful  tenderness  on  the  loveable 
traits  of  her  character.  Sad  at  heart  we  all  were  to 
think  that  we  should  see  her  no  more  on  earth. 

"  All  at  once  a  ring  came  to  the  front-door,  and 
William  Hilton  started,  then  said  with  a  ead  smile, 
turnhig  to  u.; — '  If  poor  Susan  were  not  dead,  I  should 
gay  that  was  her  ring.' 

"  Again  the  bell  rang,  louder,  sharper  than  before 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOTNE.  87 

and  the  two  female  servants  rushed  into  the  room 
pale  with  terror. 

" '  Why  do  you  not  open  the  door  ?'  said  their  mas- 
ter in  surprise. 

"  '  Th  •  Lord  save  us,  sir,'  cried  one  of  them,  '  it's  so 
like  the  mistress'  ring  that — that — oh  sir,  there  it  is 
again  !' 

"  Mr.  Hilton  did  not  take  time  to  chide  them  for 
their  folly,  but  rising  from  his  seat,  he  went  himself 
to  open  the  door ;  as  if  by  a  mechanical  impulse  my 
wife  and  I  followed — the  door  was  opened,  into  the 
hall  glided  a  spectral  figure,  and  on  into  the  parlor  it 
passed.  We  all  followed,  the  servants  shrieked,  and 
hid  their  face — so  did  my  wife — it  was  Mrs.  Hilton  in 
her  winding-sheet ! 

"  '  Great  God,  Susan,  is  it  you  ?'  said  -Mr.  Hilton 
approaching  the  figure. 

"  '  Yes,  William,  it  is  I — oh  !  I  am  cold — cold  !' 

"  '  William,  are  you  afraid  of  me  ?'  " 

"  The  next  moment  the  wife  was  clasped  to  her 
husband's  heart,  and  wTe  knew  that  Susan  Hilton  was 
before  us,  not  in  the  spirit  only,  but  in  the  flesh  !  No 
time  was  lost,  you  may  be  assured,  in  putting  her  to 
bed,  and  administering  such  restoratives  as  her  half- 
frozen  state  required.  When  thoroughly  warmed, 
the  poor  lady  fell  into  a  heavy,  unbroken  sleep,  from 
which  she  did  not  awake  till  the  morning  was  far  ad- 
vanced. 

"  When  Mrs.  Hilton  opened  her  eyes,  and  looked 
around,  her  first  word  was — 'James,  where  is  James? 


R8  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    B0TNE. 

"'Why  do  you  ask,  my  love?'  said  Mr.  Hilton, 
'  do  you  want  him  ?' 

"  Mrs.  Hilton  only  repeated  the  question,  when  it 
was  ascertained  that  James  hid  left  the  house  the 
previous  evening,  and  had  not  yet  returned.  Hear- 
ing this,  Mrs.  Hilton  raised  her  left  hand,  and  fixed 
her  eyes  on  the  ring  linger,  on  which  a  fresh  wound 
was  plainly  discernible,  the  finger,  moreover,  being 
much  swollen 

"  '  Then  it  waswo^  a  dream,'  said  she,  and  she  shud- 
dered. 

"  '  What  do  you  mean,  Susan  ?'  inquired  her  hus- 
band. 

"  '  I  was  buried  then — that  is,  I  was  placed  in  the 
vault — and  James  did  cut  my  finger.  Tell  me  how 
it  all  happened — was  I  dead  ?' 

"  '  It  seemed  so,  darlmg,'  said  her  husband,  in  a 
soothing  tone ;  we  were  all  alarmed  by  the  wildness 
of  her  look.  '  Do  you  not  remember  taking  leave  of 
us  all  ?' 

"  '  Yes,  yes,  I  remember.' 

"  '  Well !  you  died,  as  we  thought,  a  short  time 
after.' 

" '  Oh !  I  see  it  all,  now, — Almighty  God  be  praised ! 
I  was  dead  and  buried,  yet  now  live  and  breathe  above 
ground  again.  Oh  William  !  oh  my  friends,  help  me 
to  thank  our  merciful  God,  unworthy  as  I  am  of  His 
so  great  goodness  !  But,  under  God,  I  owe  my  es- 
cape to  James !' 

"  '  Why,  how  is  that,  Susan  ?  what  can  you  mean  T 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  &'& 

u  *  I  mean  that  James  saved  my  life,  though  quite 
unintentionally,  I  have  no  doubt.  I  remember  now 
perfectly  the  sensations  I  experienced  at  the  moment 
when  I  thought  myself  dying — the  mortal  terror 
that,  as  it  were,  froze  ray  blood,  and  benumbed  every 
faculty  of  my  soul  at  the  thought  that  I  was  passing 
into  the  dread  presence  of  the  Supreme  Judge ;  the 
next  thing  I  was  conscious  of  was  a  deathly  coldness 
through  all  my  frame,  as  if  of  a  person  who  had  lain 
all  night  on  the  ground  in  the  open  air;  then  I  felt 
that  one  of  my  fingers  was  cut  and  bleeding,  I  opened 
my  eyes  and  looked  up ;  there  was  James  bending 
over  me,  a  knife  in  his  hand,  his  face  plainly  seen  in 
the  light  from  a  dark  lanthorn  placed  on  my  breast 
as  I  lay  in  the  coffin.  He  was  as  pale  as  death,  and 
I  could  see  that  his  hands  trembled.  "  Oh  James !" 
said  I,  and  immediately  he  dropped  the  knife  and  ran 
away,  fortunately  leaving  the  lanthorn  behind  him, 
and  the  door  unlocked,  so  that  I  was  able  to  get  out, 
and  make  my  way  home.  My  greatest  difficulty  was 
the  churchyard  gate,  which  being  locked,  I  was  forced 
to  clamber  over  it;  you  know  it  is  not  high,  and  be- 
ing of  open  iron  work,  I  had  sufficient  resting-place 
on  either  side  for  my  poor  frozen  feet.' 

"  It  was  all  clear  now:  Mrs.  Hilton  had  been  oniy 
in  a  kind  of  trance  when  she  seemed  to  be  dead ;  her 
marriage  ring  and  a  valuable  guard-ring  had  been 
left  on,  the  finger  being  too  much  swollen  to  remove 
them,  and  this  circumstance  having  come  to  James' 
knowledge,  he  possessed  himself  of  the  key  of  the 


90  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

vault,  and  went  to  secure  the  prize  before  decom- 
position should  have  set  in.  Finding  that  he  could 
not  take  oft'  the  rings,  the  man  was  jDroceeding  to  cut 
off  the  finger,  when  the  lady  recovered  from  her 
death-like  trance,  and  the  robber  of  the  tomb  fled  in 
dismay." 

"  But  what  became  of  him  ?"  asked  Giacomo ; 
"  was  he  ever  seen  again  ?" 

"  Oh  !  indeed  he  was,"  said  Rose,  answeiing  for  her 
grandfather;  "I  often  heard  it  told  how  Mrs.  Hilton 
prevailed  on  her  husband  to  hunt  him  out,  and  settle 
a  small  pension  on  him.  For  himself  he  could  never 
forgive  the  fellow,  but  Mrs.  Hilton  would  always  have 
it  that  he  was  the  means  of  saving  her  life." 

"  And  did  the  lady  live  long  after  ?" 

"  Yes,1  said  Mr.  Ackland,  "  she  lived  for  full  four- 
teen years,  and  had  several  children  after  her  wonder- 
ful resuscitation.  Some  of  her  children  and  grand- 
children are  still  living  in  the  old  manor-house,  though 
she  and  her  husband  have  been  many,  many  years 
tenants  of  the  tomb  where  she  once  lay  a  living 
corpse  for  nigh  twenty-four  hours."* 

"  It  is  a  strange  story,"  said  Giacomo  thoughtfully, 
"but  I  heard  another  of  a  somewhat  similar  kind  said 
to  have  occurred  in  Go.'.ogne  on  the  Rhine." 

<:  Yes,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  "  I  remember  reading 
the  story  to  which  you  allude :  I  believe  it  is  com- 

*  This  story  is  true  in  all  its  principal  details.  The  parne  of 
the  Ikmily  is  changed,  however,  for  obvious  reasons. 


TIIE    OLP    XIOCSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  91 

memo  rated  by  a  monument  in  that  city,  called  the 
Monument  of  the  Dead- Alive." 

"  Dear  me !"  exclaimed  Rose  with  a  shudder, 
u  what  a  position  to  find  one's  self  in  on  awaking 
from  a  trance  ! — lying  in  a  coffin  in  a  dismal  vault 
with  the  dead  all  around,  and  in  Mrs.  Hilton's  case, 
a  robber  before  one  in  the  ungracious  act  of  sawing  off 
one's  finger  !  Only  fancy  !— I  wonder  she  didn't  lose 
her  senses,  or  die  in  reality  of  pure  fright.  Ian  sure 
/  should  !" 

"  You  don't  know,  my  dear,  you  don't  know/'  said 
her  grandfather,  stroking  her  dark  tresses  with  his 
hand.  "  But  it  grows  late,  had  we  not  better  say  our 
night-prayers,  Lydia,  and  retire  ?  I  know  not  how 
you  youngsters  may  feel,  but  I  feel  disposed  to  sleep." 

Nancy  being  summoned,  the  Rosary  and  other 
prayers  were  said,  and  the  little  household  was  soon 
at  rest  within,  while  the  snow  fell,  and  wind  blew 
without. 

Two  or  three  days  had  passed  before  the  roads 
were  in  such  condition  as  to  permit  the  visit  to 
Baltray.  Even  then  the  walking  was  not  very  good, 
so  Connor  was  sent  for,  and  one  clear  bright  morning 
Miss  Ackland,  Rose,  and  Giacomo  started  on  their 
visit  to  Mabel.  They  found  the  old  woman  cowering 
over  the  hearth,  alone  in  the  cottage,  her  son  and 
grandson  being  out  in  their  boat  and  her  daughter-in- 
law  gone  "  into  town"  to  dispose  of  the  last  "  take.'1 
The  children,  she  said,  were  "  about  the  doors  some- 
where,  divartin'  themselves." 


92  THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

"And  how  do  you  find  yourself  to-day,  Mabel?'1 
said  Miss  Ackland  stooping  over  her. 

"MiddlhV,  dear,  ni.ddlin' — but  better  that  than 
worse.     How  is  all  with  you  at  the  house?"    * 

"  Quite  well,  M.ibe1,  thank  you  '." 

"  Is  any  one  with  you,  Miss  Lyddy  ?"  For  the  old 
woman's  sight  was  wearing  dim. 

"  Yes,  Mabel,  Z'm  with  her,"  said  Rose  in  her 
merry  girlish  way,  "  and  there's  somebody  else  with 
her,  too  ! — Guess,  now,  who  it  is  !'  And  Rose  placed 
herself  between  Giacomo  and  the  old  woman. 

"Och!  don't  I  know  well  enough  who  it  is,  Miss 
Rose,  agra  !  didn't  I  tell  you  to  bring  the  young  gentle- 
man till  I'd  see  him  !" 

Reaching  her  hand  to  Miss  Ackland  to  help  her  up, 
Mabel  raised  herself  from  her  crouching  position  on 
the  hearth,  and  turned  slowly  round,  fixing  her  black 
eyes,  still  keen  and  sharp  though  somewhat  dim  with 
age,  on  the  face  of  the  young  stranger,  who  smiled 
at  the  earnestness  with  which  she  scrutinized  him. 

"  It's  a  good  face,"  said  she,  turning  at  length  to 
Miss  Ackland,  "  it's  strange  to  me,  though,"  and  she 
shook  her  head,  then  peering  again  into  the  young 
man's  face—"  there's  nothing  in  it  I  ever  seen  before, 
barrin'  the  smile,  an'  I'd  know  that  anywhere,  how- 
ever he  came  by  it.  God  mark  ycu  with  grace, 
child !"  And  with  a  suddenness  which  surprised 
even  Miss  Ackland  and  Rose,  accustomed  as  they 
were  to  her  strange  ways,  the  crone  laid  her  yellow 
wrinkled  hand  on  Giacomo's  head,  the  while  her  faiJ- 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    B07N3.  93 

iiig  memory  seemed  to  search  in  the  past  for  the 
broken  link  of  some  familiar  association.  "  The  dark 
grave  and  the  deep  say  keeps  ever  their  own,''  she 
muttered,  *5  but  there's  quare  things  happens  some- 
times,— an'  Him  above  can  do  more  than  that.  Still 
it's  all  dark — dirk — I  never  seen  him  in  my  drames— 
I'm  glad  to  see  you,  young  gentleman  1"  she  added  in 
a  louder  voice,  with  the  incoherence  of  a  failing 
mind. 

"I  thank  you,  good  Mabel!"  said  Giacomo,  im- 
pressed in  a  way  he  could  not  understand,  by  the 
old  woman's  singular  manner,  her  tall  figure  only 
slightly  stooped.  Iter  old-fashioned  apparel  neat  and 
clean,  though  poor,  and  the  keen  intelligence  that 
flashed  at  times  from  the  eyes  that  gleamed  in  the 
weather-browned  face  under  the  red  kerchief  which 
formed  the  woman's  h  ad-gear. 

"  Why,  he  snakes  English,"  Mabel  said  with  a  start, 
once  more  addressing  Miss  Ackland.  The  latter  ex- 
plained by  saying  that  the  young  gentleman  had 
be  n  early  sent  to  school  to  learn  English,  his  family, 
though  Italians,  being  much  tngaged  in  trade  with 
English  and  Irish  seaports. 

"  To  be  sure,  honey,  to  be  sure,"  said  Mabel,  turn- 
ing her  eyes  again  on  the  young  Italian — u  it's  ai^y 
Beeo  that  he's  a  foreigner,  he's  so  yallow,  though 
cornel)  enough.,  sure !  Well!  well!  I  thought — God 
help  me!  I  don't  know  what  I  thought.  Ah!  Misa 
Lyddy,  dear  an'  darlin',  I  do  be  thinkin'  quare  things 
—quare  things,  alanna.  when  I'm  sittin'  here  all  alona 


94  THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

by  myself.  An'  then,  when  night  comes,  I  see  it  all 
over  again  in  my  drames.  Livin'  an'  dead  are  about 
me  then,  an'  I  see  everything — r  very  thing.  You 
wouldn't  b'lieve,  Miss  Lyddy,  what  things  comes 
nto  thi.sould  head  o'  mine  when  I'm  lyin'  broad  awake 
even,  in  the  dead  o'  night.  If  I'd  tell  you  Ira  sure 
you'd  laugh  at  me — but  anyway  I  couldn't  tell  you— 
it's  best  not.  But  there — see  how  forgetful  I'm 
growin' — I  hadn't  the  manners  to  ax  one  o'  you  to 
sit  down."  And  with  instinctive  politeness  she  tried 
to  wipe  a  seat,  a  three-legged  stool,  it  was — and  push 
it  over  to  where  Miss  Ackland  stood.  Before  she 
could  offer  another  to  Rose,  Miss  Ackland  told  her 
not  to  trouble  herself. 

"I  see  you  have  your  little  black  (ea-pot  by  the 
fire,"  she  said  smiling,  "  and  I  know  of  old  you  don't 
like  tea  that  is  too  long  drawing, — so  we'll  leave  you, 
Mabel,  as  Connor  is  waiting  outside  with  the  car,  and 
I  intend  10  drive  our  young  friend  here  as  far  as  the 
Tower.  So,  you  see  we  have  no  time  to  lose,  for  the 
days  are  short,  and  papa  would  be  anxious,  too,  if  we 
staid  out  over  lon^." 

"  He  would,  asthore,  he  would,"  said  Mabel,  fol- 
lowing them  to  the  door.  "  But  listen  hither,  Miss 
Lyddy,"  and  she  lowered  her  voice  to  a  whisper,  and 
bent  her  head  cbse  to  the  lady — "  don't  go  too  near 
the  say  wid  him — don't, now, honey!  you  don't  know 
what  fate  might  be  on  him,  an',  no  matther  who  ha 
is,  there's  something  in  him  that  one's  heart  warms  to 
Ah  !  God's  blessin'  be  about  you,"  as  Miss  Ackland 


THE    OLD    30USE    BY    THE    BOJTNE.  95 

lingering  a  moment  behind,  placed  something  in  her 
hand,  "  sure  you're  always  givin1  me,  one  way  an'  an- 
other. Well !  moro's  the  pity,"  she  soliloquized,  look- 
ing  after  her,  "  more's  the  pity  that  she  was  crossed 
in°her  young  days,  an'  that  heavy  grief  came  upon 
her.  An1  the  heavy,  heavy  grief  it  was,  an'  will  be, 
too,  till  the  earth  covers  her.  None  but  God  Him- 
self can  give  her  comfort  now,  for  all  she  looks  the 
same  as  ever !" 

"  Where  are  we  going  now,  Aunt  Lydia  ?"  Rose 
asked,  when  they  were  again  seated  on  the  car,  the 
two  ladies  one  side,  Giacomo  the  other,  Connor  on 
his  elevated  aoat  between,—"  Did  I  hear  you  speak 
oftheTvwer?" 

'  Yes,  my  dear,  I  am  going  to  show  Giacomo  one 
of  our  sights,  so  long  as  we  are  in  the  vicinity." 

A  short  drive  along  the  river  edge  brought  them 
to  the  mouth  of  the  Boyne,  and  in  sight  of  a  tall, 
square  tower  of  a  whitish,  or  rather  a  dull  yellowish 
color,  standing  on  the  beach,  rising  lone  amid  the 
gray  sands  and  pebbles  that  fringed  the  river  and  the 
sea.  It  was  a  lonely  place,  voiceless  ever,  save  the 
sound  of  the  waters  and  the  scream  of  the  curlew ; 
dreary  as  solitude  could  make  it,  and  with  no  beauty 
to  cheer  the  eye,  except  what  it  borrowed  from  the 
sea-wave's  glancing  sheen, — the  landward  view  was 
dull  and  monotonous.  Yet  the  scene,  wild  and  lonely 
as  it  was,  struck  Giacomo  with  a  feeling  new  and 
strange.     The  soMtudeof  the  place  weighed  upon  his 


06  THE  OLI  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE, 

senses,  and  yet  the  bushed  repose  of  all  around  bad  a 
soothing  effect  on  his  m'nd. 

"  What  a  wild  place !"  he  said  at  length  ;  "  is  this 
the  Tower  we  came  to  see,  Miss  Ackland  ?" 

"  Yes,  Giacoma,  this  is  Maiden  Tower." 

"  Maiden  Tower  !'  he  repeated;  "  and  why  is  it  so 
tailed?" 

"  The  story  is  too  long  to  tell  you  now,"  the  lady 
smiling  replied  ;  "  Connor  and  his  horse  would  have 
little  reason  to  thank  me  were  I  to  keep  them  hero 
on  a  December  day  while  I  related  an  old-time  legend. 
Mark  the  place  well,  however,  and  this  evening  you 
shall  hear  what  tradition  says  of  the  lone  tower  on 
the  beach.  There  is  a  good  sea-view  from  the  top, 
but  it  is  too  cold  to  go  up  to-day." 

"  But  the  Lady's  Finger,  Aunt  Lydia,"  said  Rose, 
laughing,  "  you  forget  that,"  pointing  out  to  Giacomo 
a  sort  of  obelisk  not  a  third  as  high  as  the  tower, 
standing  at  a  little  distance  landward ;  "  is  not  that  a 
delicate  finger  for  a  lady  to  point  with  ?" 

"  Yours  is,  at  any  rate,"  thought  Giacomo,  as  he 
marked,  perhaps  for  the  first  time,  the  rare  beauty  of 
the  little  outstretched  hand. 

"  Does  tradition  say  anything  of  the  Finger,  Aunt 
Lydia?  I  really  forget,  but  I  suppose  it  does, — and  if 
it  does  not,  we  can  say  it  ourselves,  for  the  Lady  of 
the  Finger  must  be  the  Maiden  of  the  Tower." 

"  It  would  seem  so,  Rose,"  said  her  aunt,  "  but  I 
regret  to  say  that  tradition  is  silent  with  regard  to  the 
obelisk.     Come,  let  us  go,  we  shall  be  late  for  dinner, 


THE    OT.D    QUTJSE    BY    THE    20YNE.  97 

and  ycu  know  your  grandpapa  dees  not  like  to  be 
kept  waiting," 

None  there  could  read  the  sorrowful  meaning  that 
was  in  Miss  Aeklands  look  as  she  cast  her  eyes 
around  before  leaving  (he  place.  She  was  thinking 
of  a  time  long  years  before  when  in  the  bright  sum- 
mer-time she  had  wandered  on  the  beach  by  Maiden 
Tower  with  one  who  shared  her  every  thought  and 
feeling — one  whom  she  should  see  never  more  on 
earth.  Other  friends  were  then  around,  dear  and 
valued,  some  of  whom  were  now  also  with  the  dead, 
bat  what  were  they  all  to  that  sorrowing  heart 
filled  with  one  beloved  image?  His  deep  voice  mur- 
mured in  the  sea,  and  whispered  in  the  wind  that 
sighed  around  the  tower. 

That  evening  when  her  father  dosed  in  his  arm- 
chair, and  Rose  was  engaged  with  a  volume  of 
Scott's  poetry,  Giacomo  ventured  to  remind  Miss 
Ackland  of  the  promised  legend. 

"It  is  both  short  and  simple,"  she  replit.f,  "but 
sufficient  j  tinged  with  the  marvellous — and  the  im- 
probable," she  added  smiling — "  to  keep  its  hold  on 
the  popular  imagination.  Mind  I  do  not  \  -,uch  for 
the  truth  of  what  I  am  going  to  relate, 

"  '  [  tell  ih  •  ia1  ■  as  tuns  told  o  m  ■.' 
The  story  goes  that  in  very  ancient  times,  probably 
those  of  the  Crusades,  a  lady  of  this  vicinity  had  the 
grief  to  see  her  lover  go  off  to  fight  in  foreign  parts, 
promising,  however,  to  return  in  a  year  and  a  day — 
the  charmed  period  of  old  stones      It  was  agreed 


98  THE  OLD  HOUSE  RY  THE  BOYNE. 

on  by  this  sorrowful  pair  of  lovers  that  if  the  knight 
— for  such,  it  appears,  was  his  dignity — succeeded  to 
his  wishes  abroad,  and' came  home  safe  to  his  lady* 
love,  he  should  hoist  a  white  flag  when  his  vessel 
fceare  1  the  Boyne's  mouth,  but  if,  on  the  contrary, 
any  mishap  had  befallen  him,  and  that  the  vessel  re- 
turned without  him,  a  black  flag,  streaming  from  the 
mast-heal,  should  give  notice  of  the  sad  event.  The 
knight  departed  on  glory  bent,  and  his  lady-love, 
partly  to  beguile  the  first  months  of  absence,  and 
to  provide  a  lofty  place  whence  she  might  watch  the 
more  constantly  when  the  time  of  his  return  came 
near,  and  catch  the  first  sight  of  his  well-known  bark, 
built  the  tower  you  saw  to-day.  The  year  and  a  day 
had  just  elapsed  when  a  sail,  which  her  heart  told  her 
was  his,  hove  in  sight  on  the  far  horizon ;  near  rnd 
more  near  it  came,  and  already  the  lone  watcher  be- 
gan to  anticipate  the  rapturous  joy  of  the  meeting, 
now  so  close  at  hand, when, woe  of  woes  !  her  straining 
eyes  beheld  the  sable  ensign  of  death  slowly  unfurled , 
and  floating  from  the  mast-head  ;  the  sight  was  more 
than  she  could  bear,  and  she  cast  herself  from  the 
height  of  her  tower  into  the  sea,  and  perished  in 
sight  of  her  wretched  lover,  whose  shriek  of  despair 
echoed  far  over  the  waters,  and  perhaps  reached  even 
ner  dying  ear ;  he  had  only  hoisted  the  black  flag  to 
try  the  strength  and  sincerity  of  her  affection.  S.ich, 
Giacomo,  is  the  legend  of  Maiden  Tower.  Local 
history,  to  be  sure,  gives  a  different  account  of  its 
origin,  but,  you  know,  I  have  only  to  deal  with   I  lie 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  99 

more  romantic  version  told  by  the  fishermen  of  the 
coast,  and  the  peasantry  of  the  adjoining  country. 
You  smile  :  I  see  you  are  somewhat  skeptical  in  such 
matters." 

"  Perhaps  I  am,"  he  replied ;  "  at  all  events,  one 
cannot  help  thinking  that  there  must  have  been  some 
very  silly  people  in  those  days,  of  which  such  wild 
tales  are  told.  If  there  never  had  been  damsels  foolish 
enough  to  throw  themselves  into  the  sea  in  a  fit  of 
disappointment,  I  am  sure  people  would  never  hav« 
imagined  such  things  when  telling  old  stories." 

"  Very  true,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  the  deep  shadow 
gathering  over  her  fair  brow;  "but,  although  we  may 
justly  despise  the  folly,  not  to  say  wickedness,  of  any 
one  professing  the  Christian  faith  who  would  allow 
passion  to  run  away  with  their  reason,  or  induce  them 
to  shrink  as  cowards  from  the  stern  battle  of  life,  I 
would  not  have  you  think  or  speak  lightly  of  that  love 
which,  under  proper  control,  is  capable  of  producing 
great  results.  There  is  a  love,  Giacomo,  that  is 
stronger  than  death,  and  over  which  time  has  no 
power.     Oh  !  believe  me  there  is!" 

There  was  something  in  Miss  Ackland's  voice 
when  she  said  this,  that  even  more  than  the  words 
themselves  made  Giacomo  start ;  he  looked  at  her,  but 
her  eyes  were  fixed  on  vacancy,  and  a  strange  smile, 
as  of  exultation,  was  playing  about  her  parted  lips, 
giving  a  new  and  more  spiritual  expression  to  her 
features.  All  at  once  the  smile  vanished,  and  Miss 
Ackland  looking  up  perceived  that  she  had  been  the 


100  the  olt>  house  by  tttt:  botnb. 

object  of  Giacomo's  keen  scrutiny;  she  colored  and 
with  a  sort  of  impatient  gesture  called  Rose  to  bring 
over  her  book  and  read  aloud.  "  I  see  papa  is  just 
waking  up,"  said  she,  "  but,  never  mind,  read  a  bttlo 
louder,  so  that  he  may  hear  you.  I  know  he  likes 
Marmion.'  " 

The  poem  was  new  to  the  young  Italian,  and  its 
beauties  lost  nothing  by  Rose's  reading.  Her  voice 
was  musical  and  well  modulated,  and  it  was  like  a 
dream,  Giacomo  thought,  to  sit  and  look  on  her  bright 
young  face,  and  hear  her  tell  over  in  sweet  linging 
numbers,  that  story  of  cove  and  chivalry  and  old  ro 
nance. 


*^6™f§ 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Next  day  brought  Giacomo  letters  from  home 
there  was  one  from  his  young  sister  Maddalena,  full 
of  the  tenilerest  affection,  and  all  the  exuberant  joy 
of  an  almost  childish  heart,  at  the  complete  recovery 
of  a  beloved  brother,  with  the  enthusiastic  gratitude 
of  early  youth  for  those  already  dear,  though  un- 
known friends,  who  had  supplied  to  him  in  his  ut- 
most need,  the  place  of  "  the  loved  ones  at  home/' 
The  letter  was  in  Italian,  but  when  read  in  English 
to  M'ss  Ackland,  that  lady  failed  not  to  discover,  in 
addition  to  the  amiable  feelings  already  mentioned,  a 
dreamy,  pensive  character  in  the  writer,  very  unlike 
the  idea  she  had  formed  of  Griacomo's  sister.  Not 
that  the  young  man  was  himself  either  prosy  or  com- 
mon-place, and  there  was  in  him  poetry  enough  for 
all  purposes  of  ordinary  life,  but  the  poetry  lay  very 
far  down  in  his  heart,  under  divers  strata  of  common 
sense,  sound  judgment,  and  other  such  qualities 
whereof  the  lords  of  creation  are  wont  to  take  the 
full  merit  to  themselves.  Now  with  Maddalena  it 
was  easy  to  see  that  the  case  was  entirely  different; 
she  was  evidently  a  creature  of  feeling  and  sentiment 


102  THE  old  iiotise  by  the  boyne, 

and  Miss  Ackland  somehow  felt  attracted  towards 
her  as  people  seldom  are  to  those  whom  they  have 
never  seen. 

There  was  also  a  letter  from  his  father,  which 
seemed  to  disconcert  the  yonng  man  more  than  a 
little.  He  had  only  read  a  fev/  lines  when  he  rose 
from  his  feet,  and  taking  the  letter  to  the  window, 
stood  there  while  he  finished  its  perusal.  Even  then 
he  did  not  return  itnmed 'ately  to  his  seat,  and  at  last 
Miss  Ackland  expressed  her  hope  that  there  was  no 
bal  news  in  the  letter. 

"  Well !  I  know  not  whether  you  may  consider  it 
bad  news  or  good,"  he  said,  turning  with  a  smile  that 
was  not  cheerful,  "  my  father  insists  on  my  going 
lome  immediately." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  why  I  thought  you  were  to  remain 
with  us  over  Christmas." 

"  I  thought  so,  too,  but  it  seems  my  father  will  not 
have  it  so." 

"  Well !  I  am  really  sorry,"  said  Miss  Ackland, 
u  but,  after  all,  it  is  nothing  more  than  might  be  ex- 
pected. It  is  natural,  you  know,  that  your  father 
should  wish  to  have  you  at  that  festive  season — the 
more  so  as  your  poor  mother  is  dead,  and  only  your 
sister  now  at  home.  But,  indeed,  it  is  far  from'  being 
good  ne  vs  to  me — or  to  any  of  us,  I  am  sure." 

Giacomo  did  not  tell  Miss  Ackland  that  his  father 
had  given  him.  peremptory  orders  to  return  by  the 
very  first  opportunity  that  offered,  and  not  to  remain 
one  hour  longer  than  he  could  possibly  avoid.     His 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TITE    BOTNE.  103 

thanks  to  the  Acklands,  too,  were  so  cold,  so  mea- 
eured,  that  the  young  man  could  not  repeat  them  in 
the  same  way,  and  he  felt  mortified  and  distressed 
to  think  that  his  father  should  show  so  little  grati- 
tude where  so  much  was  due.  For  himself,  though 
naturally  anxious  to  see  his  father  and  sister  again, 
he  felt  half  reluctant  to  leave  a  place  where  a  new 
era  of  existence  had  dawned  on  him — a  place  that 
had  so  many  agreeable  associations,  and  where  such 
an  indescribable  charm  hung  around  every  object. 
Nestling,  as  it  were,  in  that  quiet  nook  of  the  busy 
world,  with  only  a  few  companions,  each  interesting 
in  their  own  degree,  and  their  ways  so  different  from 
any  he  had  ever  seen  bef  >re,  so  simple,  so  natural,  so 
refined,  and  in  one,  at  least,  so  piquant,  that  his  so- 
journ there  was  more  a  pleasant  dream  than  one  of 
life's  realities.  That  short  period  had,  he  felt,  thrown 
his  thoughts  into  a  different  channel,  and  given  him 
hopes  and  aspirations  new  and  undefined,  but  none 
the  less  sensible.  Now  that  the  dream  was  suddenly 
broken,  and  the  visions  it  had  brought  melting  away 
in  the  cold  vapors  of  every-day  life,  he  felt  how  very 
sweet  it  had  been.  With  the  poet  he  sadly  thought — ■ 
'  Ii  is  nil  lr.it  a  dr  am  at  tho  b  si.'' 
Ami  win  ii  linjipiest  soonest  oVr," — 
but  there  was  no  help  for  it  now,  and  Giacomo 
Malvili  was  not  the  one  to  indulge  in  idle  or  vain  re- 
grets, when  life's  duties  called  him  hence.  He  en- 
deavored to  turn  his  thoughts  on  home,  and  look 
forward  with  the  unmixed  joy  he  used  to  feel  to  a 


104  TIIE    OLD    IIOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE. 

return  thither  after  even  a  short  absence  ;  he  thought 
of  the  father  of  whom  he  was  so  proud,  and  of  the 
gentle,  graceful  sister  of  whom  he  was  so  fond,  but, 
do  as  he  would,  with  those  dear  home-images  would 
come  the  gay,  laughing  face  of  Rose,  looking  arch 
and  mischievous  through  her  brown  curls,  and  the 
sweet,  thoughtful  look  of  Miss  Ackland,  with  her 
winning  smile,  and  her  kind  motherly  accents,  sweet 
as  music  to  his  ear.  Mr.  Ackland  had  his  full  share 
in  Giacomo's  regret,  and  even  old  Nancy  was  not  for- 
gotten, for  he  had  won  his  way  to  the*  old  woman's 
heart,  and  had  latterly  bee  a  admitted  10  the  special 
privilege  of  a  seat  at  evening  by  the  kitchen  fire  when 
it  pleased  him  to  stroll  in.  This  was  a  flattering 
compliment,  as  Giacomo  was  made  to  feel,  for  it 
placed  hi  n  directly  on  a  family  footing  in  the  house, 
and  gave  him  the  benefit  of  Nancy's  songs  and  stories, 
in  common  with  Rose,  who  much  affected  the  good 
woman's  company,  as  before  indicated.  Even  the 
snug,  cozy  kitchen,  with  its  bright  turf  fire  and  well- 
swept  hearth,  had,  then,  its  sh  ire  of  pleasant  asso- 
ciations, and,  perhaps,  fully  as  many  as  the  parlor,  for 
reasons  which  the  younger  portion  of  our  readers 
will  be  at  no  loss  to  understand 

When  the  family  met  at  dinner,  Giacomo's  ap~ 
proaching  departure  was,  of  course,  the  first  and 
most  important  topic.  Miss  Ackland  looked  graver 
because  of  it,  and  her  father  still  more  so,  but  it  was 
no  little  mortifying  to  Giacomo's  vanity,  if  vanity  he 
had,  to  see  the  careless  indifference  of  Rose,  wrho 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYSS.  10S 

was,  indeed,  gayer,  if  possible,  than  usual,  and  seemed 
little  disposed  to  trouble  herself  about  who  went  or 
who  stayed,  so  long  as  her  aunt  and  grandpapa  re- 
mained, and  Nancy  and  the  cat !  That  such  was  the 
case,  she  made  Giacomo  sensible  in  various  ways, 
and  he  felt  humbled  and  not  a  little  annoyed  by  the 
girl's  total  indifference.  "  She  has  no  heart  !*'  was  the 
thought  that  fixed  itself  in  his  mind,  and  he  came, 
accordingly,  to  the  wise  conclusion  that  he,  too,  would 
be  gay,  and  cheerful,  just  to  let  Miss  Rose  see  that 
he  care'd  as  little  about  her  as  she  did  about  him. 

In  the  evening,  Mr.  Acklaad  would  have  Giacomo 
play  backgammo.i  with  him,  "  probably,"  he  said, 
"for  the  last  time."  Whilst  the  men  were  being  ar- 
ranged on  tli  ■  board,  the  old  man  chatted  on.  "  Gia- 
como,"  said  he,  "  what  would  you  think  of  seeing  a 
blind  man  play  backgammon?" 

"Well!  I  cannot  say  what  I  would  think,  Mr. 
Ackland, — -but.  at  all  events,  it  is  a  sight  I  do  not  ex- 
pect to  see." 

"Yet  I  saw  it,  Giacomo,  and  that  many  a  time." 

G:  acorn  o's  surprise  was  not  greater  than  that  of 
Miss  Ackland.  "Why,  papa,  are  you  serious?"  she 
asked. 

"  Perfectly  serious.  Lvdia  !  You  have  often  heard 
me  speak  of  Arthur  CVNeil,  the  blind  harper,  who 
sras,  in  my  young  days,  an  occasional  visitor  at  our 
house?"  Of  course  Miss  Ackland  had,  and  she 
looked  much  inerested.  Rose's  curiosity  was  also 
excited,    and     aying  down    Mary    Howitt's    Poems 


100         THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

which  she  had  been  reading,  she  leaned  ovei  the 
back  of  her  grandpapa's  chair  to  hear  "  all  about  the 
blind  harper,"  whose  fame  was  not  unknown  even  to 
her. 

"  All  I  mean  to  tell  now,  Rosey,  is  not  much,"  said 
Mr.  Ackland,  "  for  the  men  are  arranged,  and  we 
must  go  on  with  our  game." 

"  But  do  you  mean  to  say,  grandpapa,  that  ONei] 
could  play  backgammon  and  he  blind  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  and  draughts,  too  ;# — I  have  seen 
my  father  and  he  play  at  backgammon  or  draughts 
for  hours  at  a  time. 

"  Then  he  was  admitted  to  the  society  of  gentle- 
men ?"  saitl  Giacomo. 

"  Indeed  he  was,  and  not  by  courtesy,  but  by 
right,  for  he  was  a  gentleman  himself  in  every  sense 
of  the  word,  and  a  most  agreeable,  entertaining 
companion,  apart  from  his  music.  The  first  houses 
in  the  province  of  Ulster,  and  as  far  beyond  its  limits 
as  he  chose  to  go,  were  at  all  times  open  to  him. 
Amongst  his  frien  Is  and  patrons  was  that  venerable 
historian  and  scholar,  Charles  O'Connor  of  Ballinagar. 
Indeed,  the  noblest  in  the  land  welcomed  him  to 
their  social  board.  He  was  proud  of  his  ancestry, 
and  had  the  crest  of  the  O'Neils  engraved  on  his 
silver  coat-buttons." 

"I  believe,  papa,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  u  O'Neil  was 

*  For  a  particular  account  of  this  colebra'ed  man,  see  Hunt 
ins's  valuable  work  on  the  Ancient  Music  of  Ireland. 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    DY    THE    BOYNE.  107 

not  addicted  to  those  low  vices  which  disgraced 
so  many  of  the  itenerant  harpers  of  these  latter 
days." 

"  No,  my  dear,  he  was  not.  On  the  contrary, 
his  habits  were  those  of  a  high-bred  gentleman,  and 
although  formed  himself  to  shine  in  society,  he  was 
not  fond  of  large  or  mixed  companies,  and  never  in- 
dulged in  any  excess.  He  was,  indeed,  very  exclusive 
in  his  choice  of  company,  and  only  relished  what  was 
really  good.  Blind  though  he  was,  he  was  scrupu- 
lously neat,  too,  in  his  personal  appearance." 

"  But  how  did  he  manage  to  dress  himself,  grand- 
papa ?"  asked  Rose,  girl-iike. 

"  My  dear  child,  he  never  had  it  to  do ;  he  always 
had  his  body-servant  with  him,  besides  another  to 
carry  his  harp.  But  oh  !  that  haip  !  when  I  think  of 
:he  music  he  used  to  draw  from  it,  my  old  ears  tingle 
even  now,  and  my  heart  thrills  with  something  of  the 
delight  with  which  I  used  to  hear  him.  Poor  O'Neil ! 
last  of  our  national  minstrels  !  how  often  your  magic 
strains  echoed  through  this  very  room !" 

The  tears  came  into  the  old  man's  eyes,  and  he 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  evidently  oppressed  by  the 
weight  of  rushing  memories  that 

"  L  ek'd  in  the  countless  chambers  of  ilie  brain" 
came  with  the  one  awaked.  For  a  moment  all  were 
silent,  even  Rose,  but  that  mercurial  young  lady  was 
never  long  in  that  condition  of  being, — "  What!"  she 
cried,  "  here  in  this  room  ? — So  that  dear,  delightfr- 
old  harper  u:ed  to  play  in  this  very  room?" 


108  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TLIF,    BOYNE. 

u  Yes.  my  dear,  and  in  various  other  rooms  of  oui 
old  domicile,"  said  her  grandpapa  smiling  at  her 
childish  eagerness. 

"  Well !  now,  that  is  charming,"  and  Rose  clapped 
her  hands,  "  I  am  so  glad  to  know  it !" 

"  And  why  ?"  said  her  aunt. 

"  Oh  !  because,  it  is  such  a  nice  new — no,  old  picture 
for  my  memory's  cabinet.  I  had  many  images  there 
already  of  the  old  people  and  young  people,  that  u<ed 
to  be  here  in  old  times,  and  I  have  such  pleasure  when 
I'm  all  alone  sometimes,  or  when  we're  all  sitting  here 
of  an  evening,  imagining  what  they  used  to  say  and 
do,  but  now  I  have  got  one  better  than  all,  and  he 
fills  up  the  picture  so  nicely  !  I'm  sure  I  shall  often 
dream  of  that  heavenly  music  grandpapa  describes, 
and  the  blind  old  harper  playing  backgammon  !" 

"  By  the  bye,  that  reminds  me  of  our  game,  Gia- 
como,"  said  Mr.  Ackland,  "  I  was  forgetting  all  about 
it." 

"  An  astonishing  coincidence,  papa,  Mr.  Brodigan 
would  call  that." 

"  Talking  of  Brodigan,  Lydia,"  said  her  father,  "  he 
has  not  been  here  for  a  long  time  Take  care,  Gia- 
como,  or  I  shall  take  that  man  on  your  deux  point. 
Aces  !  upon  my  word  !  now,  I  have  you!" 

"Talk  of  somebody  and  he  will  appear,"  said  Miss 

Ackland,  as  aloud  knock  was  heard  at  the  hall-door; 

u  now  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  that  were  Mr.  Brodigan.' 

It  was  Mr.  Brodigan,  and  his  fine,  full,  manly  voice 

was  soon  heard  in  the  hall,  good-humoredly  calling 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  lOli 

tfancy  to  account  for  having  allowed  him  to  knock 
wica.     Nancy  said  something  in  reply. 

"  Oh  !  yes,  that's  always  the  way  with  you  women." 
said  the  voice,  as  Rose  opened  the  parlor  door,  "  I 
never  knew  one  of  you  yet  th  it  hadn't  her  excuse 
ready.  Ah !  there  you  are,  Miss  Rose,  as  blooming 
as  your  namesake — a  December  rose,  ha!  ha! — and 
my  old  friend,  looking  as  well — as  well  as  can  be — 
and  Miss  Lydia — handsome  as  ever — how  are  you 
all?  —  eh!  who's  this?''  seeing  Giacomo,  after  he 
had  shaken  hands  with  all  the  rest,  and  was  placing 
his  large,  portly  figure  in  an  arm-chair  by  the  lire. 

Giacomo  was  formally  introduced,  with  the  addi- 
tional circumstance  of  his  recent  escape  froai  ship- 
wreck. 

"  Oh!  the  San  Pietro!  So  this  is  the  young  gen- 
tleman whom  you  took  home — ahem !  invited  here, 
after  the  wreck? — A  fine  fellow,  upon  my  honor!— 
That  reminds  me  of  that  dashing  Captain  Melville 
whom  I  used  to  meet  here,  and  who  was  lost  at  sea. 
afterwards.     Quite  a  coincidence,  eh  ?" 

Miss  Ackland  rose  and  walked  with  an  unsteady 
step  to  the  table  where  her  work  lay ;  her  father 
coughed  and  fidgetted  in  his  chair,  then  offered  his 
snuff-box  to  Mr.  Brodigan,  drew  the  blazing  faggots 
together  on  the  brazen  dogs  on  the  hearth,  and  finally 
asked  what  sort  of  weather  it  was  out  of  doors. 

"Splendid  weather  for  Christmas,  Mr.  Ackland,  if 
it  only  lasts.  Keen  frost  above,  and  white  crisp  snow 
under  foot.     Fine  bracing  weather,  sir  !" 


no 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    EOYNE, 


This  worthy  gentleman,  a  corn-merchant  of  the  town, 
and  a  fair  sample  of  its  burghers,  was  a  new  manifes* 
tation  of  character  to  the  young  Italian,  and  he  list- 
ened with  pleasure  to  his  round  mellow  voice,  as  he 
talked  over  the  various  local  topics  of  the  day,  with 
Mr.  Ackland.  It  was  the  old  gentleman's  custom  to 
take  one  glass  of  punch  every  night,  before  he  retired, 
and  Mr.  Brodigan,  of  course,  joined  him  on  that  even- 
ing, declaring,  upon  his  word,  that  there  was  nothing 
batter  after  a  smart  walk  of  a  cold  winter  night  than 
a  good  "  tumbler  of  punch."  But  although  Mr. 
Brodigan  admitted  the  efficacy  of  the  punch  as  a 
specific  for  cold,  he  was  by  no  means  addicted  to  its 
use,  and  seldom  went  beyond  "  a  tumbler  or  so," 
s  lying  that  "  enough  was  as  good  as  a  feast."  But 
he  waxed  me'low  under  the  genial  influence  of  the 
fire,  and  the  glass  of  punch,  and  asked  the  ladies  if 
they  wouldn't  favor  him  with  some  music.  Of  course 
they  w  ould ;  Miss  Ackland  played,  Rose  sang  "Gaily  the 
Troubadour  touched  his  Guitar,"  Mr.  Brodigan  beat- 
ing time  on  the  table  with  his  fingers,  and  humming 
the  air  at  the  same  time  in  a  way  that  made  Giacomo 
wish  to  hear  him  sing.  His  «vish  was  gratified,  for 
Rose,  having  finished  her  song,  said — "  Now,  Mr. 
Brodigan,  it  is  your  turn.  You  will  favor  us  with  a 
song,  will  you  not  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  will,  Miss  R  se  ! — you  know  it  is  an 
old  saying  that  it  is  bad  enough  to  be  a  bad  singer, 
and  not  be  bad  about  it.  You  know  all  my  songs, 
i  td'es, — now  tell  me  what  I  shall  sing  ?" 


THE    OLD    IIOUSK    BY    THE    BOYXF.  Ill 

u  Oh  !  you  know  my  favorite/1  said  Miss  Ackland. 

"  And  mine,  Mr.  Brodigan,"  added  Rose, 

"Well!  now.  ladies,  I  declare  Id  like  to  oblige 
you  both,"  he  said  laughing,  k-  and  I  don't  see  how  J 
can  do  it,  except  to  sing  for  both." 

•'A  happy  thought !"  said  Mr.  Ackland. 

So  Mr.  Brodigan,  clearing  his  throat  in  the  most 
approved  fashion,  sang  for  Miss  Ackland  "The  Light 
of  other  Days,"  then  new  and  much  in  favor,  and  for 
Rose  "  The  Haunted  Spring,"  one  of  Lover's  most 
beautiful  Songs  of  Ireland,  and  he  sang  both  well,  and 
with  true  feeling  of  expression;  music  both  vocal 
and  instrumental  was  much  cared  for  in  Drogheda 
society,  and  if  men  or  women  (we  mean,  of  course, 
ladies  and  gentlemen)  had  ever  so  little  voice,  they 
cultivated  it  as  a  sort  of  duty  they  owed  their  neigh- 
bors and  friends. 

"  I'm  sorry  Mrs.  Brodigan  and  the  girls  didn't 
come,"  sail  Miss  Ackland;  "we  could  have  had  a 
set  of  quadrilles,  if  they  had  ! ' 

"So  am  I,  Mis?  Lydia,"  said  the  worthy  merchant, 
"  and  I  assure  you  it  isn't  my  fault,  for  I  tried  hard 
to  prevail  upon  them,  but  they  were  all  afraid  of  the 
coll,  and  Mrs.  Brod'gan  had  a  touch  of  a  sore  throat, 
so  they  stayed  at  home.  I  dropped  in  for  a  moment 
at  Gernon's  on  my  way  up,  and  what  do  you  think 
but  Mrs.  G.  has  another  '  touch  of  a  sore  throat/ 
Quite  a  coincidence,  isn't  it?  But  that  reminds  me 
of  my  message,  which  I  was  near  forgetting.  There's 
Grand   Benediction  in  the  afternoon,  ycu  know,  at 


11*2  THE    OLD    IIOUSS    BY    Till'    BDYNE. 

West  street  Chapel,— of  course,  we'll  all  meet  there, 
and  Mrs.  Brodigan  wants  you  to  come  home  with  us 
afterwards  to  dinner.  And  our  young  Leghorner 
here,"'  turning  to  Giacomo,  "  will  consider  himself 
very  particularly  invited."' 

"You  are  very  kind,  Mr.  Brodigan,  and  I  should 
oe  most  happy  to  accept  your  invitation,"  said  Gia- 
como, "  but  I  shall  be  on  my  way  home  by  Sunday — 
that  is,  if  I  can  find  a  vessel  going.1' 

Mr.  Brodigan  expressed  his  regret,  and  hoped  to 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him  at  his  table  at  some 
future  time.  The  other  promised  to  go,  and  Mr. 
Brodigan  took  his  departure,  stoutly  refusing  "  an- 
other glass  of  punch." — "  No,  no,  thank  you,  one's 
enough  at  a  time.     Good-nteht,  all." 

After  the  worthy  merchant  had  left,  and  the  family 
prayers  were  said,  the  little  circle  in  Mr.  Ackland's 
old  parlor  drew  closer  round  the  fire;  long  thev  sat 
and  talked,  unmindful  of  the  swiftly-passing  hours. 
till  Mr.  Ackland,  at  length,  looking  at  his  watch,  sur- 
prised them  all  by  the  startling  announcement  that  it 
was  past  twelve  o'clock. 

"  In  that  ca^e,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  "  we  must  dis- 
solve the  meeting,  and  I  hereby  formally  dismiss  you 
all  to  the  land  of  dreams." 

"  And  I  shrill  b  ■  glad  to  go," 
said  Rose,  quoting  N.  P.  Willis,  "  provided  I  ma) 
dream  of  grandpapa's  dear  old  gentlemanly  harper, 
and  hear  his  entrancing  music,  which   would  then, 
you  know,  be  literally   'the  music  of  the  sphere*.' 


THE    OLD    nOUSE    BY    TIIE    BOYXE.  113 

Would  not  that  be  a  coincidence?"  and  so  saying, 
having  reached  the  room-door,  she  laughingly  kissed 
her  hand  to  those  she  was  leaving  behind,  and  trip- 
ped away  with  her  night-light,  humming  "  I'd  be  a 
butterfly."  Giacomo  thought  of  the  figures  of  Hebe 
he  had  seen  in  his  own  country,  and  wondered  if  any 
of  those  grand  old  sculptors  had  had  such  models  as 
Rose  Ackhnd. 

He  had  gone  to  bed  and  fallen  asleep,  after  the 
pious  preparation  carefully  taught  him  by  his  mother 
in  his  early  childhood,  and  had  slept  he  knew  not  how 
long,  when  he  was  awoke  by  a  strain  of  what  seemed 
at  first  to  his  bewildered  senses,  celestial  music ;  re- 
turning consciousness,  however,  soon  convinced  him 
that  it  was  not  celestial,  as  the  Angels  are  not  wont 
to  tunc  their  harps  to  Scotch  airs,  and  the  one  ring- 
ing in  his  ears,  and  thrilling  his  heart,  aud  making  the 
blood  to  tingle  in  his  finger-ends,  was  decidedly  Cale- 
donian, if  he  knew  anything  of  national  music.  It 
was  a  merry  stiain,  a  cheerful,  stirring  strain,  full  of 
life,  and  hope,  and  all  the  most  welcome  of  the  heart's 
emotions,  and  how  Giacomo's  heart  did  welcome  it ! 
Never  had  he  heard  such  soul-stirring  music ;  so  ho 
thought,  at  least,  and  as  the  delicious  melody  floated 
around,  now  high,  now  low,  on  the  midnight  air,  the 
youn -x  man  lay  entranced  and  motionless,  fearing  to 
lose  a  no'„3  by  any  change  of  position.  All  at  once 
the  strain  changed  to  an  equally  cheerful  Irish  air,  ono 
he  had  often  heard  Rose  play, — which  Giacomo  re- 
cognized as  "  Nothing  in  life  can  sadden  us."     When 


] 1 i  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

this  was  played  a  few  times  over,  the  music  ceased , 
Giacomo  sprang  from  bis  bed  and  approached  the 
window,  just  in  time  to  heai  a  deep  masculine  voice 
saying  words  like  these,  rapidly  spoken  : 

"  Good    morrow,  Mr.    Ackland !     Good    morrow 
Miss  Ackland  !     Good  morrow,  Miss  Rose  ! — good 
morrow,  young   gentleman  !     Good    morrow,  ladies ; 
and  gentlemen,  all !" 

The  cold,  sharply-pointed  crescent  of  the  waning 
moon  was  struggling  through  thick  clouds  at  the 
moment,  and  by  her  misty  light,  the  young  man  could 
just  distinguish  some  four  or  five  figures  in  great- 
coats, having,  as  he  thought,  an  exceedingly  ancient 
look  about  them,  something  like  the  "  Charleys"  who 
still  kept  watch  and  ward  over  the  slumbers  of  the 
burghers  of  Drogheda;  the  faint  rays  fell,  too,  on  cer- 
tain brazen  "instruments  of  sound,1'  carried  by  these 
quaintdooking  serenadors,  the  light  of  which  com- 
pletely dispelled  from  Giacomo's  mind  any  lingering 
suspicion  that  the  music  he  had  heard  might  possibly 
be  that  of  O'Neifs  harp,  or  some  other  minstrelsy  from 
the  w  >rld  of  spirits.  Standing  oppposite  the  win- 
dows at  the  rear  of  the  house,  in  the  street  leading  out 
from  Lawrence's  Gate,  the  musicians  had  thus  agree- 
ably broken  the  night's  dead  silence,  and  were  now 
moving  away.  Hid  the  cold  been  less  intense,  Gia 
como  might  have  been  curious  enough  to  have  watch- 
ed them  on  their  way,  but  as  it  was,  he  was  only  too 
glad  to  take  shelter  again  under  the  blankets  from 
the  keen  frosty  air  of  mid- winter.     It  was  long,  how 


THE    OLD       OUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE,  115 

ever,  before  sleep  again  visited  his  eye-lids,  for  the 
music  he  had  heard  was  still  ringing  in  his  ears,  fill- 
ing his  mind  with  sweet  and  gracious  fancies,  and  he 
could  not,  if  he  would,  break  the  charm  it  had  cast 
over  all  his  senses. 

When  he  met  the  family  at  breakfast  next  morning. 
Giacomo  went  at  once  into  the  subject  that  occupied 
his  thoughts,  and  asked  if  any  one  in  the  house  had 
heard  music  during  the  night.  Miss  Ackland  smiled, 
and  Rose  laughed. 

"  Music  !"  said  she,  "  what  music  ?  Did  you  hear 
any  ?" 

li  Indeed  I  did,  the  sweetest  music  I  ever  heard 
before." 

"  Ha !  ha !"  cried  Ros?,  "  the  Signor  has  been 
visited  by  the  harper's  ghost.  Only  think,  grand- 
papa." 

"  Not  exactly,  Miss  Rose,*'  said  Giacomo,  "  unless 
he  was  one  of  a  company  of  old  fellows,  for  such  T 
could  see  they  were,  who  thought  proper  to  serenade 
us  last  night.  Moreover,  if  your  ancient  harper  was 
there,  he  forgot  his  harp,  for  I'll  swear  I  saw  only 
brass  instruments  with  the  performers.'" 

"  So  you  have  been  made  sensible,  Giacomo,"  said 
Miss  Ackland,  "  of  the  meaning  of  those  lines  of  out 
national  poet — 

"  '  No,  not  move  welcome  tl>e  fairy  numbers 
Of  music  fall  on  the  sleeper's  ear, 
When  half  awaking  from  fearful  slumbers, 
He  thinks  the  full  choir  of  heaven  is  near.' '' 


116  THE    OLD    HOUSE    E7   THE    B0YNE. 

51  Truly  I  have,  Miss  Ackland ;  but  pray,  can  you 
tell  me  what  music  it  was  I  heard,  or  rather  who 
they  were  that  paid  us  such  a  compliment — I  say  (  us.' 
for  I  presume  I  was  the  '  young  gentleman'  so  kindly 
greeted  with  the  rest  of  the  household  ?" 

"  Only  fancy,  aunt,"  said  Rose  with  her  merry 
laugh,  "  the  Signor  fancies  that  the  compliment  was 
all  for  us  ?  as  if  that  same  compliment  was  not  paid 
at  fifty  different  houses  last  night." 

" Indeed  ? ' 

"  Yes,  indeed  ! — did  you  never  hear  of  ( the  waits,' 
who  go  round  every  night  in  some  of  these  old  towns 
just  before  Christmas,  playing  on  different  instru- 
ments, and  wishing  everybody  a  good  morrow  ?"  No, 
Giacomo  had  never  heard  of  them. 

"  Well  !  you  have  not  only  heard  of  them,  now,  but 
heard  them  your  very  self.  Those  were  the  waits 
whom  yon  heard  last  night,  and  the  waits  are  a  very 
old  institution  in  Drogheda.  We  purposely  refrained 
from  telling  you  of  the  custom,  in  order  to  give  you 
a  surprise." 

"  For  which  I  thank  you ;  but  do  you  mean  to  say, 
Miss  Rose,  that  those  worthy  individuals  take  all 
that  trouble  every  year  merely  to  regale  the  ears  of 
the  townspeople  with  their  merry  midnight  music  ?" 

"  That — and  something  else,"  said  Rose  laughing  at 
the  young  man's  simple  earnestness. 

11  The  something  else  being ?" 

11  Certain  silver  coins  ranging  from  a  crown  to  a 
shilling,  which  they  receive  when  they  go  round  soma 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  EOYXE.         117 

&&)±  uftei  ^o  every  house  they  serenaded,  to  ask  theii 
'Christmas  box.'  If  you  are  here  the  week  afte* 
Christmas  you  may  have  a  daylight  view  of  '  the 
waits' — and  queer,  jolly  old  fellows  they  are,  too  !" 

"  I  fear  I  have  seen  the  last  of  them,"  said  Giaco- 
rao,  making  an  effort  to  imitate  Rose's  gaiety,  "  un- 
less they  may  choose  to  pay  us  another  visit  during 
this  week." 

"  They  may  and  they  may  not,"  said  Rose,  "  but 
are  you  really  and  truly  going  before  Christmas  ?" 

"  Really  and  truly, — if  I  can." 

"And  you  won't  wait  for  the  Midnight  Mass,  or 
to  see  the  Crib  and  the  Holy  Infant  in  the  Churches  ?" 

"  No,  I  hope  to  be  at  Midnight  Mass  in  Leghorn, 
and  there  I  shall  see  all,  and  more  than  all,  I  could 
possibly  see  here." 

':  You  forget,  Rosey,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  "  that  all 
Giacomo  loves  await  him  in  Leghorn." 

11  All  I  love  ?"  repeated  Giacomo,  in  a  reproachful 
tone,  turning  his  dark,  eloquent  eyes  on  Miss  Ack- 
land.    "  Do  you  think  all  I  love  are  in  Leghorn  ?" 

The  lady  smiled,  and,  reaching  her  hand  for  his 
cup,  said  in  her  quiet  way — "  Perhaps  I  should  have 
said  '  those  he  most  loves.'  But,  after  all,  love  is  a 
strong  word,  Giacomo ! — seldom,  indeed,  can  it  be  ap- 
plied to  those  whom  we  and  the  world  call  our  friends. 
Some  we  esteem,  others  we  may  like,  but  rarely,  in- 
deed, beyond  the  limits  of  our  own  family,  dc  w« 
find  any  to  love — any  whose  presence  is  sunshine  to 
our   hearts,    whose    absence,   gloom    and  weariness. 


118         THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

Well  for  those  who  have  found  such,  but  alas  !  for 
those  who  found  and  lost  them  !" 

The  last  words  were  uttered  in  a  sort  of  inward 
tone,  as  though  the  speaker  were  rather  following 
out  her  own  thoughts  than  addressing  another;  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  which  she  hastened  to  wipe 
away,  and  smile  as  usual,  seeing  her  father  watching 
her  with  that  troubled  look  which  she  often  saw  on 
his  face  when  a  cloud  rested  on  hers. 

"  Papa,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  brightening  up,  "  we 
must  take  our  young  friend  to  Old  bridge  before  he 
leaves,  to  see  King  William's  Obelisk,  and  the  scene 
of  the  famous  Battle  of  the  Boyne." 

The  old  gentleman  smiled  assent.  ''  But,  dear  me !" 
said  Rose,  "  there  are  so  many  places  he  has  not  seen. 
He  has  not  even  walked  up  the  Rathmullen  Road,  01 
out  to  the  Mall ;  the  beautiful  Nanny- Water  he  has 
not  seen, — nor  scarce  anything.1' 

One  word  caught  Giacomo's  fancy — "The  walk 
on  the  Rathmullen  Road,"  said  he,  "  surely  there  is 
time  enough  for  that,"  and  he  looked  at  Rose  with  a 
heightened  color.  "  No,  no,"  said  Miss  Ackland, 
"  you  would  not  enjoy  even  that  now.  Wait  till  you 
come  back  next  summer,  and  you  shall  see  everything 
— Bellewstown  Races  included." 

Giacomo  smiled  and  shook  his  head,  but  said  no 
more  on  the  subject. 


CHAPTER   Vn. 

Bt  good  or  ill  fortune  as  the  case  might  be,  a  ghip 
was  found  a  few  days  after  taking  freight  for  Leg- 
horn, and  the  captain,  to  whom  his  father  was  not 
unknown,  willingly  consented  to  take  Giacomo  as  a 
passenger  in  his  cabin.  Now  that  the  day  was  fixed 
for  his  departure,  the  young  man  began  to  feel  the 
yearning  that  all  loving  hearts  must  feel  for  the  loved 
and  long  unseen.  But  none  the  less  his  regret  for 
leaving  the  new  friends  amongst  whom  he  had  spent 
some  happy  weeks,  perhaps  the  most  s  nsibly  so  of 
all  his  life.  Under  the  influence  of  these  feelings  he 
much  desired  to  revisit  the  places  where  they  had 
been  together,  and  most  of  all,  Clog'.er  Head,  the 
scene  of  that  disaster  which  had  thrown  him,  a  friend- 
less stranger,  on  their  bounty. 

They  went  to  Clogher,  one  gray,  mild  day,  when 
there  was  neither  frost,  nor  rain,  nor  snow — Miss 
Acklan  1  and  Rose,  with  a  certain  Mr.  Cusack,  an 
elderly  young  gentleman  extremely  well-to-do  in  the 
world,  aid  very  anxious  to  secure  a  footing  in  the 
small  circle  which  counted  the  Acklands  as  its  centre. 
Other  and  higher  ambition  Harry  Cnsack  might  have 


120  TIIE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

had,  but  of  that  more  anon  He  had  Ions;  ao;o  been 
set  down  by  the  town  gossips  as  a  would-be  candi- 
date for  M:ss  Ackland's  hand,  but  years  passed  on 
and  nothing  came  of  it,  an  1  people  had  at  last  mado 
up  their  minds  either  that  Harry  Cusack  had  never 
"  meant  anything  particular,"  or  that  Miss  Ackland 
had  determined  to  "  die  an  old  maid,"  now  that  she 
was  nearing.  if  not  actually  on,  the  upper  shelf.  But 
still  Harry  was  seen  in  as  constant  attendance  as  tha 
ladies  would  permit,  and  no  Mrs.  Cusack  was  pre- 
sented to  the  burghers  and  their  wives.  When  a  .1 
escort  was  required,  Harry  was  always  only  too 
happy  to  do  the  amiable,  nothing  impeded  by  the 
claims  of  business,  for  Cusack  was  his  own  master 
and  the  head  of  a  thriving  mercantile  house  of  good 
standing  in  the  borough.  So  Harry  Cusack  was  of 
the  party  that  drove  down  to  Clogher  that  Decem- 
ber day,  moved  thereto  by  some  instinctive  feeling 
that  the  young  Italian  had  enjoyed  more  than  his 
share  of  the  Acklands'  company.  Moreover  he  drove 
them  there  on  his  own  handsome  and  stylish  jaunting 
car — that  is  to  say,  his  man  did. 

The  heavens  were  gray  above,  and  the  sea  and 
the  river  gray  and  misty  all,  when,  leaving  the  car  in 
the  village,  our  party  made  their  way  to  the  end  of 
the  bold  promontory,  over  rough  and  jagged  rocks, 
and  enormous  boulders  thrown  up  probably  from 
the  deep  by  antediluvian  tides  when  Clogher  Head 
did  not  tower  so  high  as  it  does  to-day  a^ove  the 
world  of  waters.     Mr.  Cusack  had  offered  his  arm  to 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOTNE.         12i 

Mips  Ackland,  but  she  took  Giacomo's,  as  though  not 
noticing  the  motion,  and  the  disconcei  ted  Harry  was 
about  trying  his  luck  with  Rose,  when  that  volatile 
young  lady  skipped  past  him,  and  was  seen  the  next 
moment,  poised  on  the  top  of  a  huge  stone  to  which 
she  climbed  by  means  of  others  smaller  resting 
again>t  its  green,  mossy  side.  Giacomo  started,  and 
would  have  gone  to  aid  her  in  her  descent  from 
what  seerred  her  perilous  position,  but  Miss  Ackland 
gently  detained  him,  saying  that  Rose  was  in  no  dan- 
ger whatever,  and  was  well  accustomed  to  clamber 
over  the  rocks. 

"But  they  arc  damp  to-day,  Miss  Ackland,  and 
somewhat  slippery.'' 

"Oh!  never  mind.  Rose  is  as  sure-footed  as  a 
mountain -ccoat.  I  often  tell  her  she  ought  to  have 
be  n  born  in  some  Alpine  chalet,  she  lias  such  a  fancy 
for  climbing  rocks.  A  perfect  Linda  di  Chamou- 
ni." 

"Perfect,  indeed,"  said  Giacomo,  as  he  watched 
the  lithe  and  active  girl,  moving  to  and  fro  on  her 
elevated  perch,  in  order  to  catch  the  view  at  differ 
ent  points.  Even  the  heavy  folds  of  her  large  cloak, 
and  the  close-fitting  bonnet  that  covered  her  head, 
could  not  hide  the  grace  and  symmetry  of  her  figure, 
or  the  lightness  and  agility  of  her  movements. 

"  She'll  break  her  neck,  Miss  Ackland,  I'm  sure  she 
ivill,"  was  Cusack's  consolatory  remark ;  "  she's  as 
vild  as  a  deer — upon  my  honor  she  is." 

"  Suppose,  Mr.   Cusack  !  you  went  up  to  take  care 


122  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

of  her,''  said  Giacomo  somewhat  maliciously,  as  he 
glanced  over  the  Louth  man's  goodly  proportions. 

"  Is  it  I  go  up  th»re?"  said  Cusack ;  "no,  I  thank 
you,  I  value  my  life  and  limbs  too  much  for  that 
Perhaps  you'd  like  to  go  yourself — eh  ?" 

No  sooner  said  than  done ;  another  moment  and 
the  light  and  graceful  figure  of  the  young  Italian  was 
traced  with  Rose's  on  the  gray  wintry  sky.  He  was 
standing  by  her  side  on  the  lofty  eminence, 

"Now  I  call  that  a  smart  lad!"  said  Cusack,  his 
vexation  quite  perceptibly  shown;  "I  shouldn't  won- 
der if  he  had  served  his  time  to  a  circus-rider/' 

Miss  Ackland  smiled  at  the  idea,  but  she  merely 
answered — "  I  rather  think  not,'1 — her  mind  was  al- 
ready wandering  from  the  present  to  that  past  in 
which  she  loved  to  dwell.  In  vain  did  Cusack  exert 
himself  to  keep  up  a  show  of  conversation;  she  an- 
swered him,  indeed,  but,  as  it  were,  mechanically ,  and 
in  monosyllables  that  sufficiently  indicated  her  ab- 
straction. Her  eyes  were  fixed  now  on  the  surging 
waves,  in  whose  depths  a  hoarse  sullen  murmur  was 
heard,  denoting  a  coming  storm, — and  now  turned, 
as  if  unconsciously,  on  the  youthful  pair,  who  had  de- 
scended from  the  top  of  the  boulder,  and  approached 
the  verge  of  the  rocky  precipice,  at  whose  foot  roared 
the  white  breakers  evermore.  What  association  was 
it  that  attracted  Miss  Ac-Hand's  grave,  sad  look  to 
the  animated  face  of  the  young  man  while  he  talked 
to  Rose,  and  smiled  at  the  girl's  wayward  answers, 
then  looked  thoughtfully  out  over  the  waters  that  lay 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    130YN 


123 


between  himself  and  home  ?  Did  his  voice,  his  mien, 
his  youthful  grace,  recall  some  image  from  the  grave 
of  time,  or  awake  to  momentary  life  some  dream  of 
bygone  days?  None  knew  save  herself,  and  she 
was  not  given  to  revealing  her  thoughts  or  fancies, 
least  of  all  to  Mr.  Harry  Cnsack. 

And  of  what  were  the  young  people  talking  as  they 
stood  on  the  bold  high  bluff  together  ?  Their  talk 
was  of  nothing  in  particular,  whatever  their  thoughts 
might  have  been. 

"Oh!  do  look  at  that  gull!"  said  Rose,  pointing  to 
one  that  was  describing  circles  between  air  and  water, 
"  >-:ee  how  gracefully  and  lightly  he  skims  the  water 
with  his  wing  !  Should  you  not  like  to  be  a  sea-bird, 
Signor  Giacomo  ?" 

"  Perhaps  I  might,"  he  said,  amused  at  the  question, 
"  provided  I  were  not  doomed  to  fly  alone.  But  I 
would  rather  be  a  canary-bird,  singing  in  a  cage,  in  a 
place  I  know." 

"  Oh  fie!''  laughed  Rose,  "  what  a  preference  '.—you 
do  not,  then, 

<<  ' dream  of  all  things  free  V  " 

"  No,  I  dream  of  nothing  free.  My  dreams  are  not 
of  freedom,  but  of  captivity—willing  captivity." 

"  What,  have  you  never  felt  the  poet's  longing  when 
lie  so.ig'--  and  she  recited  with  theatrical  emphasis— 

'  '  Oil !  Uj  be  flee  like  the  eagle  of  htaveii, 

TiriX  roams  over  for*  sis  and  mountains  all  day — 
Then  flies  to  the  rock  which  ihe  thunder  has  riven, 
And  nurtures  her  young  with  the  fresh  bleeding  prey  V 


1 24  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

You  never  have  such  yearnings  after  freedom,  have 


vou 


9" 


"  No,  I  stick  to  tho  canary." 

"  Truly,  you  are  very  humble  in  ycur  aspirations.'1 

"  Not  so  humble  as  you  seem  to  think."  And  turn- 
ing he  fixed  his  eyes  on  her  laughing  face.  "  My 
ambition,  Signora,  soars  higher  than  you  may  sup- 
pose." 

"  Oh  !  pray,  don't  begin  to  confess  to  me"  and  the 
smile  on  Rose's  cheecs  and  lips  deepened  into  rosy 
dimples  of  mischievous  glee,  u  you  know  I  am  not 
your  spiritual  director.  Did  you  ever  hear  the  Mer- 
maid's sonor  ?"  And  without  waiting  for  an  answer, 
the  wayward  girl  sang  in  her  sweet  clear  tones — 

ct  Come,  mariner,  down  lo  the  deep  with  me, 

And  hide  ye  under  ihe  wave, 
For  I  have  a  bed  of  coral  for  thee, 
And  quiet  and  sound  shall  llvy  slumbers  be 

In  the  cell  of  the  Mermaid's  cave." 

'  What  wrould  you  think  of  a  flying  descent  to  the 
Mermaid's  cave  such  a  day  as  this  ?" 

"  Anywhere — anywhere  with  you  !"  was  it  a  spirit 
near  them  that  spoke  those  wild,  passionate  words, 
or  was  it  the  youth  who  stood  so  calmly  at  Rose'* 
side,  his  lips  firmly  compressed,  his  cheeks  pale,  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  dark  rugged  rocks  beneath.  Rose 
was  silent  a  moment, — a  thing  unusual  with  her.  At 
last  Giacomo  turned,  and  a  faint  smile  wTas  on  his 
face — 

'•  You  forget,  Miss  Rose,  that  but  fewr  wTeeks  have 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  120 

passed  since  there  below  I  was  battling  with  the 
waves,  amid  storm  and  darkness — struggling  for  a 
life,"  he  added  drearily,  "  that  was  scarce  worth  the 
saving." 

"Idid  forget  it — for  the  moment ' — Rose  a.iswered, 
a  sweet  seriousness  stealing  over  her  face,  and  a 
shudder  creeping  through  her  frame.  "  It  was  a 
fearful  night.  I  shall  never  forget  it.  How  thankful 
you  ought  to  be,  Giacomo, — I  mean,  Signor, — that 
you  escaped  when  so  many  perished.  Oh  !  that  gun  ! 
that  signal  gun  !  how  dismally  it  sounded  through  the 
wild  storm  !" 

"  You  said  I  ought  to  be  thankful  for  my  escape," 
said  Giacomo;  "I  am  thankful,  Miss  Rose,  very,  very 
thankful  to  our  good  God  who  has  spared  me  for 
some  wise  purpose  of  His  own.  But  tell  me,  had  you 
known  me  as  you  know  me  now,  would  you  have 
been  sorry   had  I,  too,  perished  that  dreary  night?" 

"  Sorry  !"  Rose  repeated  with  a  slight  start,  then 
seeing  the  eagerness  with  which  the  young  man 
awaited  her  answer,  she  laughed  and  said  in  a  careless 
way — "  Oh  !  of  course  I  should  have  been  sorry.  I 
will  not  promise  you,  though,  that  I  would  'to  your 
memory  drop  a  tear,'  as  the  Scotch  ballad  says.  But 
I  think  I  should  have  been  sorry,  for  it  is  not  always, 
you  know,  one  has  somebody  to  tease,  as  I  have  many 
<i  good  time  teased  you!1'1 

"  Och  !  weary  on  you  for  a  creel,  for  I  can't  hould 
you  up,  at  all,  at  all !"  said  a  rough  coarse  voice  from 
below 


126  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    COYNS. 

"  Who  in  the  world  is  that  ?"  said  Ghcomo,  peer- 
ing down  amongst  the  rocks. 

"  Your  Mermaid,'*  answered  Rose,  laughing  mer 
rily ;   "  see  if  it  be  not !" 

The  head  of  an  uncouth  female  figure  emerged  just 
then  above  the  rocks  on  the  side  of  the  promontory 
where  a  rough  precipitous  path  led  down  towards 
the  Pirate's  Cave.  Her  stout  and  bony  frame  was 
attired  in  a  costume  half  masculine,  half  feminine, 
a  sailor's  jacket  being  her  upper  garment,  over  a 
short  drugget  skirt  and  a  gown  of  linsey-woolsey  of 
the  same  length  pinned  up  behind.  On  her  head 
was  a  blue  handkerchief  tied  under  the  chin,  while 
the  picture  was  completed  by  a  large  basket  of  the 
kind  called  a  creel,  which  hung  over  her  shoulders 
by  a  leathern  strap  across  her  chest.  The  basket 
was  full  of  the  dulse  or  sea-rack  which  the  woman 
had  been  gathering  amongst  the  rocks.  "  There  she 
is,"  said  Rose,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  told  you  so.  A 
rare  Amphitryon,  is  she  not,  oh  !  mighty  Neptune  ?'* 

But  Giacomo  scarcely  heard  her ;  seeing  the  poor 
fish  woman  bending,  as  she  was,  under  her  load,  and 
exhausted  by  her  toilsome  and  difficult  ascent  of  the 
damp,  slippery  rocks,  he  had  flown  to  assist  her,  and 
reaching  his  hand,  which  she  caught  fast  hold  of,  en- 
abled her  to  climb  over  the  last  remaining  ledge  of 
rock,  and  plant  herself  on  terra  firma.  She  gave  her 
basket  a  hitch  to  raise  it  on  her  shoulders,  and  then 
turned  to  thank  the  young  gentleman  who  had  sc 
kindly  assisted  her. 


THE    OLD    m    SE    BY    THE    BOYNS.  127 

"  Fm  entirely  obleeged  to  you,  gentleman,''  said 
6he,  "an1  sure  it's  aisy  known  it's  a  rale  gentleman  ye 
are,  or  ye  wouldn't  stretch  your  hand  to  help  a  poor 
cratur  like  me  wid  her  heavy  load.  It's  a:sy  seen 
where  the  bit  o'  dacency  is.  But  isn't  that  y 011113 
Miss  Ackland  I  see  wid  you  ?  Augh  !  sure  now  1 
know  who  you  are,  barrin'  your  name, — an'  the  L01A 
be  praised  that  you  didn't  go  to  the  fishes  down,  that 
night  when  the  ship  was  wracked  !  Well !  God 
bless  you  both,  sure  if  anything  comes  of  it,  it's  the 
purty  couple  you'll  make.  You  have  Catty  Nugent's 
blessin'  anyway !" 

Anil  so  saying,  siie  trudged  away,  dropping  a 
curtsey  to  Miss  Ackland  as  she  passed  her  by,  and 
glancing  with  broad  satirical  meaning  at  Mr.  Cusack, 
where  he  stood  facing  the  lady  in  a  favorite  attitude 
of  his,  with  his  overcoat  thrown  back,  and  his  thumbs 
in  tin*  arm-holes  of  his  handsome  vest  of  dark-coloied 
velvet.  Whatever  might  be  the  reason,  it  was  plain 
the  wealthy  merchant  held  no  very  high  place  in  the 
fish  woman's  estimation,  and  she  belonged  to  a  frater- 
nity who  are  never  chary  of  their  opinion.  The 
Clogher  and  Baltray  fishwomen  enjoy  the  enviable 
reputation  of  being  able  to  scold  down  all  before 
them,  and  of  them  it  is,  indeed,  often  said  that  "their 
tongues  are  no  scandal !" 

T  .e  broad  hint  so  characteristically  i^iven  by  Catty 
Nugent  was  not  lost  on  Giacomo  and  he  turned  to 
see  what  effect  it  had  on  his  fair  companion.  A  true 
Irish  girl  was  Rose  Ackland;  gay  and  volatile  as  she 


128  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BV    THE    BOYNJS. 

was  by  nature,  licr  modesty  was  of  that  sensitive  kind 
that  shrinks  from  any,  even  the  slightest  allusion  to 
such  possibilities,  and  though  her  cheeks  were  dyed 
crimson  red,  she  strove  to  appear  as  though  she  had 
not  understood  the  fishwoman's  broad  "  if  anything 
comes  of  it."  She  stooped  to  pick  up  a  variegated 
pebble  that  lay  at  her  feet,  and  handing  it  to  Giacomo 
said,  with  a  smile  that  was  evidently  forced—- 

"  Suppose  you  take  that  home  to  Leghorn  as  a 
souvenir  of  the  rocks  of  Clogher." 

"  And  of  these  few  '  happy  moments'  " — he  said 
with  emphasis,  "  moments  all  too  brief,  and  never  to 
be  forgotten.  If  never  to  be  enjoyed  again,  these 
moments  during  which  I  have  stood  with  you  on  the 
wild  shore  of  Louth,  looking  out  on  the  waste  of 
waters,  will  come  back  to  me  in  after  times,  Rose 
Ackland,  as  one  bright  speck  on  a  life  that  may  be 
dark — 

"  '  Ai.'d  in  the  flight  of  y<  ars  we  trace, 
Th-  d  aivst  of  th  m  all.' 

This  little  stone  may  one  day  have  a  value  you 
little  dream  of  now !"     And  he  put  it  carefully  away. 

Before  Rose  spoke  again  she  coughed  once  or 
twice,  then  gathered  her  cloak  around  her,  drew 
down  her  veil,  and  finally  burst  into  one  of  her  mer- 
riest laughs. 

"  Mercy  on  us,  Signor,  how  you  do  talk  ! — you  are 
positively  becoming  quite  serious,  and  such  being  the 
case,  I  must  try  the  efficacy  of  Harry  Cusack's  amus 
ing  dulness,  by  way  of  specific." 


THE    OLD    TIOrSE    BY    THE    BOTNE.  129 

"Harry  Cusack  is  much  obliged  to  yon,  Miss  Rose !" 
said  the  gentleman  named,  who,  having  at  length  per- 
ceived that  Miss  Ackland  paid  little  attention  to  his 
common-places,  could  no  longer  resist  the  temptation 
of  breaking  in  on  a  tete-a-tete  which,  brief  as  it  was, 
rather  piqued  his  self-importance.  He  had  just  come 
up  in  time  to  hear  his  own  name  mentioned.  "I 
wasn't  aware  that  I  was  the  subject  of  your  conver- 
sation.    I  am  quite  nattered,  I  declare '." 

"  You  need  not  be,  then,"  said  Rose,  sharply;  "  if 
you  heard  what  I  said  you  would  not," 

"Oh!  of  course  I  heard,  of  course  I  did — some- 
thing about  my  dulness,  I  think  you  said.  But  no 
matter, — no  matter,  Miss  Rose,  better  some  people's 
dulness,  as  you  may  find  out,  than  other  people's  over 
smartness.  I  never  was  a  great  hand  at  jumping,  or 
turning  summersets,  or  the  like,"  and  he  looked 
pointedly  at  Giacomo,  "but  still  I'm  not  so  dull  as 
you"  may  suppose,  and  there's  one  thing  I  can  say  for 
myself  that  everybody  knows  who  I  am,  which  is 
more  than  some  people  can  say  for  themselves." 

Giacomo  colored,  and  was  evidently  about  to  make 
a  sharp  retort,  when  a  comical  look  and  gesture  from 
Rose  made  him  change  his  mind  and  turn  away 
laughing. 

"  Now,  you  dear  old  Harry  Cusack,  you  can't  deny 
but  you  are  a  little  dull  at  times,"  said  Rose,  laying 
her  hand  playfully  on  his  shoulder.  "  And  as  for 
jumping  and  turning  summersets,  as  you  say,  you 
know  you  are  to  be  my  uncle  one  of  these  days,  and 


130  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TITE    BOYNE. 

Buch  performances  would  ill  become  the  gravity  an 3 
dignity  of  your  position.  Good  gracious  !  only  think 
of  Harry  Cnsack  practising  gymnastics !"  And 
away  she  ran  to  join  her  aunt,  leaving  the  two  gentle- 
en  looking  at  each  other  in  a  sort  of  comical  be- 
wilderment. 

"  Uncle,  indeed  P  muttered  Cusack  i  she  turned  on 
his  heel  and  walked  away,  "  what  an  uncle  I'd  make 
you,  to  be  sure,  Miss  Rose  Ackland  P 

"Well!  Giacomo,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  when  the 
party  were  once  more  together,  and  walking  towards 
their  vehicle,  "  have  you  fixed  this  wild  scene  of  your 
perilous  adventure  sufficiently  in  your  mind  to  de- 
scribe it  when  you  get  home  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Giacomo,  c: sting  his  eyes  over  the 
wide  expanse  of  water,  and  the  rocky  shore,  then 
down  on  the  little  straggling  fishing-village  that  nes- 
tled, as  it  were,  under  the  side  of  the  bold  promon- 
tory, "  yes,  I  think  the  picture  is  well  stamped  on 
my  memory." 

"  Not  forgetting  your  Mermaid,"  said  Rose  archly, 
"and  her  basket  of  sea-weed." 

"The  Mermaid  shall  not  be  forgotten,"  was  the 
teply,  "nor  she  who  sang  her  s.uig,"  lie  added  in  a 
lower  tone  that  only  reached  Rose's  ear. 

"  I  think,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  "  we  shall  have  a 
Btorm  soon;  I  do  not  like  those  heavy  clouds  that 
are  gathering  on  the  horizon." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Cusack;  "it  will  be  a  rough  even- 
ing, depend  upon  it,  and  I  think  it  is  the  best  of  ouf 


TIIE    OLD    HOUSE    DY    THE    BOYNE. 


131 


play  to  be  making  the  road  short.  There's  Ned,  too, 
making  signs  to  us  to  hurry,  so  if  you  have  all  seen 
enough  of  Clogher,  we'll  start  for  home." 

A  few  minutes  more,  and  they  were  all  comfortably 
seated  on  the  car,  with  water-proof  covers  over  their 
knees,  and  Ned,  jumping  into  his  seat,  smacked  his 
whip  as  he  dashed  down  the  village  street,  Catty 
Nugent  standing  at  her  door,  dropping  a  curtsey, 
as  they  passed,  and  wishing  them  all  safe  home,  and 
"all  sorts  o'  good  luck  to  the  pretty  young  gentle- 
man, an'  the  ladies,  God  bless  them  !" 

Soon  Clogher  was  left  behind,  and  the  car  dashed 
rapidly  along  the  somewhat  lonely  road  back  to 
Drogheda.  The  iain  was  falling,  and  the  quaint  old 
sycamores  quivering  in  the  blast,  when  the  party 
reached  Mr.  Ackland  s  door.  The  short  day  was 
already  at  its  close,  and  "  the  candles  were  lit  in  the 
parlor,'1— and  Nancy  was  in  a  state  of  feverish  ex- 
citement because  the  dinner  was  spoiled — she  was 
sure  it  was,  and  wondered  at  Miss  Ackland  to  stay 
so  long,  knowing  well  enough  that  the  chickens  would 
be  boiled  to  rags,  and  the  drawn  butter  burned  try 
ing  to  keep  it  warm,  and  that  nothing  would  be  fit  to 
put  on  the  table.  And  there  was  Mr.  Cusack,  too, 
staying  for  dinner.  Well  !  well  !  it  was  provoVbg. 
sure  enough,  and  so  Miss  Ack'and  acknowledged, 
soothing  Nancy  as  no  one  else  so  well  could,  and 
praising  the  skill  and  ingenuity  by  which  the  faithful 
creature  had  endeavored  to  make  the  most  of  what 
she  had  to  cook  for  dinner.  Notwithstanding  Nancy's 


132  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    B0VNE. 

lamentations  the  viands  were  declared  excellent, 
the  credit  of  which  Nancy,  well  pleased,  took  to  her- 
self, but  which  Miss  Ackland,  in  the  good  woman's 
absence,  ascribed  rather  to  the  keen  sea-air  and  the 
long  fast,  in  conformity  with  the  old  adage  that 
"  hunger  is  good  sauce.1'  So  the  meal  passed  right 
pleasantly,  and  even  Hurry  Cusack's  brow,  clouded 
before,  grew  serene  as  a  summer  sky. 

The  dinner  was  scarcely  over  when  in  came  Mr. 
and  Mrs,  Brodigan,  with  their  two  daughters,  the 
mother  a  fine  portly  matron  of  a  certain  age,  making 
up  in  breadth  what  she  wanted  in  height; — the 
daughters  nothing  in  particular,  except  that  Miss 
Brodigan  was  tall  and  rather  dark-complexioned,  Miss 
Jane  small  and  fair,  with  blue  eyes  and  light-colored 
hair,  almost  flaxen  in  hue;  also,  Miss  Brodigan  was 
very  reserved,  and  spoke  but  little;  Miss  Jane  was 
insipid  and  sentimental.  Their  father  being  wealthy, 
however,  the  young  ladies  had  admirers — no,  suitors, — 
by  the  dozen,  to  which  circumstance  might  be  owing 
the  slightly  supercilious  air  habitual  to  both,  but 
especially  to  the  elder.  They  had  heard  much  of  the 
handsome  young  stranger  who  had  been  so  long  the 
guest  of  the  Acklands,  yet  all  unseen  by  Drogheda 
belles,  and  were  anxious  to  make  his  acquaintance 
before  he  left;  so,  hearing  that  that  was  to  be  on  the 
morrow,  they  had  proposed  to  their  father  and 
mother  to  go  and  spend  the  evening  at  Mr.  Ack- 
[and's,  "  it  was  so  long  since  they  had  been  there." 

To  all  except  Giacomo  the  arrival  of  the  Brodigan? 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   TEC    BOYNE.  133 

appeared  to  give  pleasure;  he  would  much  rather 
have  had,  for  the  last  of  his  stay,  one  more  of  those 
delightful  evenings,  so  quiet,  yet  so  far  from  dull,  of 
which  he  had  spent  so  many  under  that  roof.  But 
the  Brodigans  were  there,  and  Cusack  was  there; 
there  was  no  help  for  it,  and  everybody  seemed  so 
pleased, — especially  Mr.  Brodigan,  who  asked  if  it 
wasn't  quite  a  lucky  coincidence  that  Mr.  Cusack 
should  happen  to  be  there,  too,  and  that  Mrs.  Brodi- 
gan's  throat  got  well  just  in  time. 

Cusack  exerted  himself  to  shine  that  evening ;  and 
shine  he  did  in  his  own  way,  with  that  leaden  bright- 
ness peculiar  to  him.  He  and  Mr.  Brodigan  were  on 
extremely  good  terms ;  they  had  business  relations 
not  unfrequently  that  were  of  mutual  advantage,  and 
otherwise,  there  was  sufficient  in  common  between 
them  to  make  their  intercourse  of  the  friendliest 
kind.  The  young  ladies,  not  having  the  honor  of 
Mr.  Cusack's  particular  attention,  were  the  more  dis- 
posed to  value  it,  and  could  ill  brook  his  well-known 
partiality  for  the  society  of  the  Ackland  ladies,  for 
the  wealthy  and  good-looking  Cusack  was  deemed 
quite  an  authority  in  Drogheda  circles.  "  Mamma" 
herself  had  a  lingering  hope  that  Mr.  Cusack  might 
one  day  "  come  round"  to  pay  more  attention  to 
either  of  her  daughters,  who,  if  they  were  not  quite 
bo  handsome  as  some  of  their  neighbors,  had  that  (in 
expectation)  which  according  to  Mrs.  Brodigan  and 
many  others — "  covers  all  defects."  They  had  money 
(to  get),  and  Mr.  Cusack  and  all  Drogheda  knew  that 


134  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

— they  were  young  enough,  too, — and  so  their  pru- 
dent mamma  could  afford  to  wait,  and  "  let  things 
take  their  course,"  the  more  so  as  "  the  girls  had  as 
good  as  Cusack  looking  after  them,  and  were  always 
sure  of  being  well  settled." 

So  on  these  terms  the  party  spent  a  very  pleasant 
evening  together ;  quadrilles  were  danced  by  all  in 
their  turn,  except  Mr.  Ackland,  who  was  laughingly 
allowed  the  special  privilege  of  keeping  his  seat  near 
the  fire ;  Rose  Ackland  and  the  Misses  Brodigan 
danced  the  Highland  Fling  in  character,  that  is  to 
say,  with  tartan  scarfs  tied  gracefully  under  one  arm, 
and  the  whole  party,  with  the  exception  of  Miss 
Ackland  who  played,  danced  "  The  Triumph,"  and 
some  other  country-dances,  for  country-dances  as  yet 
maintained  their  ground  in  Irish  society.  Some  of 
these  dances  were  new  to  Giacomo,  and  his  efforts  to 
follow  the  figures,  under  the  guidance  of  his  partner 
for  the  time,  created  much  amusement.  But  ho 
turned  the  tables  on  them  by  proposing  to  teach  them 
some  of  his  own  national  dances,  and  nothing  could 
be  more  amusing  than  to  see  good  Mr.  Brodigan,  and 
even  Cusack,  though  younger  and  of  somewhat 
lighter  proportions,  attempting  the  light  fantastic 
movements  of  the  gay  Italian  dances.  There  was 
singing,  too,  including  French  chansons  from  the  Miss 
Brodigans,  and  a  beautiful  Italian  romanza  from  Gia- 
como, being  the  first  time  the  latter  had  sung  in  that 
house.  He  had  overlooked  sundry  hints  from  the 
fair  Miss  Jane  that  she  was  so  fond  of  Italian  musio. 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE,  185 

and  so  forth,  and  even  a  patronizing  request  from  her 
more  stately  sister,  and  it  was  only  a  little  before  the 
party  separated  that  on  Miss  Ackland's  whispered  in- 
vitation, enforced  by  a  "  Pray  do,  Signor !"  from 
Rose,  he  sang  the  little  canzorutta  which  charmed  all 
the  company,  though  Harry  Cusack  shrugged  his 
shoulders  a  very  little,  behind  backs,  and  the  sisters 
were  not  quite  so  loud  in  their  applause  as  if  the  can- 
zonetta  had  been  sung  at  their  request,  expressed  or 
understood.  It  was  evident,  indeed,  that  if  the 
young  stranger  chose  to  make  himself  agreeable  to 
either  he  might  easily  have  succeeded,  and  Miss  Jane's 
languid  graces  were  as  clearly  put  forth  for  him,  but 
alas !  put  forth  in  vain ;  he  was  blind  and  deaf  in  her 
regard,  as  she  saw  with  no  small  degree  of  mortifica- 
tion. As  for  Anne  Brodigan,  she  soon  perceived  that 
the  handsome  and  graceful  young  stranger  was  not 
likely  to  bead  at  the  shrine  of  either,  and  though  she 
would  probably,  in  his  case,  have  stooped  to  conquer, 
she  shrewdly  guessed  that  the  victory  was  not  for 
her,  so  she  did  not  stoop,  but  kept  her  dignity,  and 
was  barely  civil,  nothing  more. 

It  was  late,  for  that  quiet  household,  at  least,  when 
Cusack  and  the  Brodigans  left  together,  wishing  the 
Signor  a  safe  and  pleasant  voyage,  though  politely  re- 
gretting his  departure.  Nancy  was  then  summoned, 
and  the  night-prayers  said,  when,  late  as  it  was — 
eleven  o'clock  or  so — the  little  circle  drew  their 
chairs  around  the  fire  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  a  last 
friendly  chat  before  they  retired  for  the  night.     They 


136  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

talked  long,  but  not  cheerfully,  for  though  all  tried 
to  conceal  the  feeling  of  approaching  separation,  it 
would  come  uppermost,  and  was  plainly  visible  on 
every  face,  and  in  the  saddened  tone  of  every  voice ; 
even  Rose  was  not  merry  as  her  wont,  although  she 
showed  the  least  depression  of  all.  Mr.  Ackland 
would  have  Giacomo  promise  that  he  would,  if  pos- 
sible, visit  them  again  in  the  summer,  and  the  young 
man  said  in  an  under  tone — "  God  grant  I  may  be 
able  to  come  as  soon  as  I  would  wish  to  come,  and 
that  I  may  find  you  all  as  I  leave  you  now !"  So 
saying  he  left  the  room. 

On  the  morrow  he  sailed  for  Leghorn,  as  sad  for 
leaving  his  Drogheda  friends  as  hopeful  of  meeting 
those  he  loved  at  home.  Mr.  Ackland,  Mr.  Brodigan, 
and  Harry  Cusack,  with  several  other  gentlemen  of 
the  town,  had  accompanied  the  young  man  to  the 
ship,  which  lay  alongside  the  quay,  near  the  bridge. 
They  had  just  left  him,  and  he  was  standing  on  the 
deck,  looking  wistfully  up  at  St.  Catherine's  Mount, 
then  glancing  over  the  strangely-varied  features  of 
the  scene  immediately  arouud  him,  when  he  per- 
ceived a  tall,  slouching  figure  standing  motionless  on 
the  quay,  scanning  through  half-closed  eyes  the  crowd 
of  faces  on  board  the  Lady  of  the  Lake.  It  was 
Jemmy  Nulty,  and  Giacomo,  suspecting  the  object 
of  his  visiting  the  quay  at  that  particular  time,  crossed 
the  gangway  to  where  he  stood,  and  tapped  him  on 
the  shoulder.  He  turned  slowly,  without  any  mani- 
festation of  surprise. 


THE    OLD    IIOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  137 

*  Were  you  looking  for  me,  Jemmy  ?" 
"I  was,  dear;— God  bless  you!  I  hard  you  were 
for  lavin'  us  this  mornin',  so  I  thought  I'd  bring  you 
an  Agnus  Dei.  I  got  it  a'  purpose  from  the  dear 
ladies  up  at  the  Fair  street  Convent.  I  meant  to 
bring  it  to  you  yisterday,  an'  I  would,  too,  only  for  a 
touch  o'  the  rheumatics  I  got.  You'll  be  sure  an' 
wear  it,  an'  111  go  bail  you'll  never  be  ship  wracked 
again." 

Giacomo  promised ;  he  did  not  choose  to  tell  the 
kind  simple  old  man  that  he  had  one  already,  the 
gift  of  Miss  Ackland,  which  lay  very  close  to  his 
heart.  He  warmly  thanked  Jemmy,  and  asked  him 
to  remember  him  sometimes  in  his  prayers. 

"  Oh !  it's  little  good  my  poor  prayers  'ill  do  any 
one,1'  Jemmy  replied  in  the  perfect  good  faith  of  gen- 
uine humility ;  "  there  is  no  one  needs  prayers  more 
than  I  do  myself,  God  help  me !  But,  sure,  they  say 
even  sinners  are  hard  when  they  pray  for  others,  so 
I'll  not  forget  you,  dear  young  gentleman  !" 

Giacomo  would  have  placed  some  money  in  tne  old 
man's  hand,  but  he  gently  put  it  away,  saying  in  his 
soft,  whispering  tones,  "  No,  dear,  no  ! — I  don't  want, 
it ! — I've  enough  for  the  little  time  I'll  be  here.  But 
if  you  ever  come  back  to  Drogheda,  an1  miss  poor 
Jemmy,  I'll  lay  it  on  you  to  get  a  Mass  said  for  me. 
There's  my  hand  now,  an'  farewell !  an'  God  be  with 
you !"  Somehow  the  tears  started  to  the  young  man's 
eyes  as  he  watched  the  large  uncouth  figure  of  the 
pilgrim  slowly  moving  away. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

It  /r**  Christmas  Eve  in  Leghorn,  that  old-new 
town  of  vVestern  Italy,  in  fair  Tuscany,  yet  scarcely 
of  it, — with  its  mixed  population,  comprising  people 
from  most  of  the  maritime  countries  of  Europe,  its 
modern  fortifications,  its  Turkish  mosque,  its  Greek 
and  Protestant  churches,  rising  as  proudly  there, 
under  that  blue  cold  sky,  as  though  they  were  not  on 
Italian  soil,  and  in  almost  the  only  city  of  Italy  where 
all  religions  stood  on  equal  ground.  The  Angelus- 
bell  had  long  since  tolled  from  the  Duomo  and  the 
Church  of  the  Madonna,  and  the  streets  were  al- 
ready thinning  fast  of  the  busy,  bustling  crowds  who 
had  all  day  long  been  hurrying  to  and  fro  in  pursuit 
of  their  various  objects.  The  night  was  cold  for  that 
southern  climate,  and  the  stars  were  twinkling  in 
the  dark  blue  depths  of  a  moonless  sky  with  that  in- 
tense brightness  peculiar  to  the  frosty  nights  of  mid- 
winter. 

All  Leghorn  is  within  the  walls  built  around  it  by 
one  of  the  magnificent  Medici  princes  some  two  hun- 
dred years  ago.  So,  within  the  walls,  in  one  of  tho 
handsome  streets  appropriated  to  the  dwellings  of 


TH»   OLD    HOUSE    Bi'    THE    BOYXE.  139 

the  rich  merchants  and  the  professional  men  of  the 
place,  we  are  going  to  enter  a  house,  plainer  than 
most  of  those  around  it,  yet  still  indicating  the  af- 
fluent condition  of  its  owners — in  the  taste  displayed 
everywhere  around  it,  and  the  more  than  Italian  at- 
tention to  comfort  and  convenience.  In  a  small  but 
handsomely-furnished  parlor  on  the  first  floor,  with 
a  clear  smokeless  fire  burning  on  a  brasier  in  the 
centre,  sat  two  persons,  a  father  and  daughter,  it  was 
plain  to  see,  from  the  close  resemblance  they  bore  to 
one  another.  The  girl  might  have  been  some  eight- 
een years  of  age,  although  her  height  would  have 
made  one  suppose  her  older,  for  she  was  rather  over 
than  under  the  middle  size,  yet  slight  and  graceful 
withal ;  her  face  was  not  what  could  strictly  be  called 
handsome,  but  it  was  more  than  handsome,  with 
clear  blue  eyes  of  a  pensive,  almost  melancholy  ex- 
pression, and  a  rich  profusion  of  fair  hair  smoothly 
braided  in  those  Grecian  bands  which  sculptors  love 
to  represent,  as  giving  to  the  female  head  that  clas- 
sical character  so  full  of  womanly  modesty  and 
womanly  grace. 

The  father  was  a  remakably  fine-looking  man  ot 
some  forty  years  and  upwards,  with  a  look  of  deci- 
sion, and  what  might  be  called  stern  determination, 
for  the  prevailing  character  of  his  pale,  and  strongly- 
marked  features.  The  eyes  were  blue,  and  deep-set 
under  the  finely  arched  brows ;  the  forehead  high 
and  broad,  shaded  by  hair  only  a  little  darker  than 
his  daughter's  and  as  yet  untouched  by  the  frosts  of 


140  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE, 

years.  The  nose  and  mouth  were  singularly  fine, 
expressing  at  once  the  decision  of  the  gentleman's 
character,  and  a  certain  refinement  tnat  was  scarce 
compatible  with  the  sternness  of  the  general  aspect. 
Tiiere  was,  moreover,  a  certain  air  of  command  about 
the  head  and  face  that  well  became  the  tall,  muscular 
figure ;  but  there  were  lines  of  care  and  anxious 
thought  in  the  still  handsome  face  that  evidently  came 
in  advance  of  time.  He  was  pacing  the  room  to  and 
fro,  with  knitted  brow,  and  folded  arms,  while  his 
daughter  sat  near  the  brasier,  making  a  Christmas 
wreath  of  evergreen  branches,  which  she  intertwined 
with  dexterous  fingers.  Ever  and  anon,  she  paused 
in  her  work,  to  steal  a  look  at  her  father,  and  her 
sweet  face  grew  sadder  and  sadder  as  she  saw  the 
cloud  darkening  on  his.  It  was  not  her  custom,  how- 
ever, to  break  in  on  his  meditations,  and  so  she 
worked  on  in  silence  till  he  suddenly  stopped  in  front 
of  her,  and  said  in  Italian  : 

"  Maddalena,  I  fear  we  shall  have  a  lonely  Christ- 
mas, after  all.  If  Giacomo  were  coming  he  would  be 
here  before  now." 

Tears  came  into  the  girl's  eyes,  but  she  only  said— 
"  He  may  come  to-night  yet,  father." 

"  No,  no,  he  will  not  come — he  forgets  us — he  is 
like  the  young  Telemachus,  shipwrecked  on  Calyp- 
so's Island, — but  without  a  Mentor,"  he  added  bit* 
terly. 

"  My  dear  father,"  said  the  girl  in  her  sweet  soo^h 
ing  way,  "  do  not  be  hard  on  Giacomo."     She  did 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         141 

not  understand  the  classical  allusion.  "  I  am  sure  he 
will  be  here.  I  have  prayed  the  Madonna  so  often 
to  bring  him  home  for  Christmas  that  I  know  she  can- 
not choose  but  hear  me." 

"  Pray  her  to  keep  your  heart  pure  and  innocent 
as  now,  my  child!"  said  the  father,  regarding  her 
with  a  softened  look  which,  seldom  seen  in  his  stern 
eyes,  was  very  beautiful  and  very  touching — so  Mad- 
dalena  thought,  and  her  gentle  heart  glowed  with 
pleasurable  emotions.  "  Pi  ay  the  Madonna,  Madda- 
lena,  that  your  woman's  heart  may  never  harden  in 
the  world's  icy  grasp,  or  its  freshness  depart  with  the 
spring-time  of  your  years  ! — pray,  my  child,  that  you 
be  like  your  mother  in  all  womanly  virtues  !" 

He  resumed  his  walk,  nor  spoke  again  till  a  loud 
knock  came  to  the  outer  door,  and  before  either 
father  or  daughter  could  reach  the  hall,  the  room- 
door  was  thrown  open,  and  Giacomo,  our  Giacomo 
and  theirs,  rushed  in,  flushed  with  excitement,  and 
radiant  with  joy.  Oh  !  the  ineffable  delight  with 
which  Maddalena  embraced  him,  and  kissed  him 
over  and  over,  murmuring  "  Thank  God  !  thank  God  ! 
you  are  safe  home  again  !"  but  when  the  youth  would 
have  thrown  himself  into  his  father's  arms,  he  glanced 
in  his  face,  and  drawing  back,  extended  his  hand, 
while  the  light  of  joy  faded  from  his  eyes. 

"  Giacomo,"  said  the  father  in  a  calm  but  rather 
severe  tone,  "  I  am  glad  you  have  come  home  for 
Christmas.  But  why  did  you  stay  so  long  ?  It  is 
some  weeks  since  you  have  been   quite  recovered. 


142  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE, 

Why  should  you  intrude  so  long  on ,  on  stran- 
gers— not  to  speak  of  the  indifference  your  pro* 
tracted  absence  showed  for  us  at  home  ?" 

"Father,"  Giacomo  began,  in  a  hesitating  voice, 
"it  was  really  impossible  to  getaway  sooner  without 
giving  offence  to  the  kind  friends  to  whom  I  am  so 
indebted." 

"  Ay,"  said  the  father,  with  his  bitter  smile,  "  I  was 
just  saying  to  your  sister  that  our  Telemachus  had 
been  thrown  on  Calypso's  Island  without  his  Mentor." 

"  Well !  even  if  it  were  so,  father,"  the  young  man 
returned  smiling,  "  you  know  Ulysses  had  been  there 
before  Telemachus,  and  all  his  wisdom  could  not 
shield  him  from  the  potent  charms  of  the  goddess. 
But  for  me,  I  found  no  Calypso  after  my  shipwreck 
— no  spells  were  woven  for  me." 

The  father  turned  quickly  and  fixed  a  piercing 
look  on  his  son,  but  there  was  nothing  in  the  frank, 
ingenuous  face  that  sought  to  elude  detection,  and 
the  elder  gentleman  smiled  with  evident  relief  as  he 
told  Maddalena  to  leave  off  gazing  at  her  brother, 
and  go  see  if  supper  were  ready. 

"And  I  will  go  down  at  the  same  time  to  see 
Paolo  and  Nannetta,"  said  Giacomo,  "  before  I  go  up 
Btairs.     How  are  they  ?" 

"  As  well  as  can  be — -just  as  you  left  them." 

"  I  saw  Giulia,  of  course,  at  the  door,  when  she  let 
me  in,  and  I  heard  her  running  at  full  speed  to  tell 
the  news  below." 

These  were  the  servants,  a  husband  and  wife  and 


THE  OLD  HOCSE  BY  THE  BOTNE.         143 

iheir  only  child,  whom  her  mother  was  training  as  a 
maid-of- all- work,  making  her  very  helpsul  to  herself 
in  discharging  the  easy  duties  of  that  small  and  quiet 
household, 

So  Giacomo  was  home  for  Christmas,  and  had  had 
a  good  sleep  by  the  time  the  churches  were  illumin- 
ated for  twelve  o'clock ;  then  went  with  his  father 
and  sister  to  Midnight  Mass  in  the  Church  of  the  Ma- 
donna near  by,  where,  kneeling  before  the  high  altar 
amid  the  blaze  of  lights  and  the  perfume  of  fresh 
green  branches,  he  sang  with  the  rest  the  soul-inspir- 
ing Adeste  Fideles, — wishing  the  while  that  some  of 
his  Drogheda  friends  were  there  to  hear  an  Italian 
congregation  singing  with  one  voice  and  in  perfect 
unison  the  joyous  strains  that  usher  in  the  auspicious 
day  of  Our  Lord's  Nativity.  Even  there  came  up 
before  his  mind,  amid  all  the  holy  associations  of  the 
place  and  the  time,  the  group  that  greeted  his  eyes 
when  last  he  looked  on  the  old  bouse  by  the  Boyne 
— Miss  Ackland  and  Rose  standing  side  by  side  on 
the  esplanade,  watching  him  as  he  descended  the 
steps,  the  latter  waving  a  smiling  farewell,  while 
near  them,  but  a  little  behind,  stood  old  Nancy,  rais- 
ing ever  and  anon  her  apron  to  her  eyes  to  wipe 
away  the  tears  which  she  did  not  care  to  hide. 
■'  They  are  all  at  Midnight  Mass,  too  "  thought  he, 
'  in  their  favorite  High  Lane  Chapel,  and  dear  Mr. 
Ackland  is  there,  and,  perhaps,  Jemmy  Nulty.  And 
it  may  be  that  some  of  them  are  praying  for  me,  as 
I  pray  for  them,  at  this  happy  hour." 


144         THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  B0TNE. 

It  was  natural  that  Giacomo  should  talk  much  of 
the  Acklands,  and  it  was  natural  that  Maddalena 
should  listen  with  such  interest  as  she  had  never  lis- 
tened before  to  even  the  most  minute  details  of  her 
brother's  sojourn  under  their  roof.  Soon  she  learned 
to  know  each  and  all  of  the  family,  their  old  house 
by  the  bright  Irish  river,  their  old  servant,  whom  she 
usually  associated  with  her  own  good  Nannetta,  and 
even  Tab,  the  cat.  Maddalena  grew  familiar  with 
them  all,  and  it  became  one  of  the  favorite  amuse- 
ments of  her  solitary  hours  to  gather  them  all  around 
her  in  fancy.  She  had  her  favorites  amongst  them, 
too,  and  her  chief  one  was  Miss  Ackland,  whom  she 
somehow  singled  out  from  all  the  rest  as  more  than 
ail  interesting.  Sweet  Maddalena  had  a  heart  full  of 
tender,  gentle  affection, — a  creature  of  feeling,  still 
more  than  of  thought,  she  clung  to  any  one  who  once 
gained  her  love  like  ivy  to  the  castle  wall. 

But  it  was  almost  always  in  the  absence  of  their 
father  that  the  young  people  talked  of  Drogheda  and 
the  Acklands ;  once  or  twice  when  some  casual  allu- 
sion was  made  to  the  subject  in  his  presence,  he 
chilled  the  warm  hearts  of  his  children  by  some 
cynical  remark,  expressive  of  that  cold  skepticism  in 
regard  to  human  nature,  which  was,  unhappily,  one 
c»f  his  prevailing  traits  of  character.  Thus,  the  gen- 
erous care  and  kindness  of  the  Acklands  to  his  son, 
he  col  lly  and  curtly  attributed  to  "  circumstances — 
nothing  more,"  and  would  scarcely  admit  any  extra- 
ordinary merit  in  the  case.    It  seemed  to  his  children 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 


145 


as  though  he  felt  annoyed  at  being  under  such  obli- 
gations to  strangers,  without  any  proper  means  of 
discharging  a  debt,  which  his  pride  could  ill  bear. 
But,  however  little  he  talked  on  the  subject,  he  man 
aged  to  possess  hims.lf  of  the  principal  circum- 
stances connected  with  the  Acklands,  and  now  and 
then  startled  the  young  people  by  some  abrupt  ques- 
tion concerning  them,  when  they  were  talking  to- 
gether in  a  low  tone,  and  believed  him  absorbed  in 
his  book  or  his  writing— for  it  was  bis  practice  to 
write  letters  sometimes  of  an  evening,  at  home  in 
their  quiet  parlor.  Then  came  dimly  back  to  Gia- 
como's  mind  the  unaccountable  dislike  his  mother 
had  for  Drogheda,  which  yet  she  had  never  seen, 
and  he  began  to  remember,  what  he  had  of  late, 
oddly  enough,  forgotten,  that  his  father  had  known 
that  old  town  well  in  his  younger  days,  and  he  much 
desired  to  ask  him  whether  he  had  been  acquainted 
with  any  of  the  Ackland  family;  but  thinking,  very 
naturally,  that  if  such  were  the  case,  he  would  have 
mentioned  it  before  then,  the  young  man  forbore 
putting  the  question ;  it  was  seldom,  indeed,  that  he 
did  take  such  a  liberty  with  his  father. 

And  yet  the  Signor  Malvili  was  not  a  harsh  man ; 
cold  he  seemed  always,  and  stern  at  times,  but  never 
harsh  or  rough  ;  on  the  contrary,  there  was  a  certain 
degree  of  gentleness  even  in  his  harshest  mood,  some- 
thing that  attracted  you  towards  him,  you  knew  not 
why,  and  made  you  almost  love,  even  while  you 
feared  him.     His  manner  was  that  of  a  well-bred  man 


146  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE. 

a  gentleman,  easy  and  natural,  except  in  so  far  as  it 
was  cold  and  reserved.  There  was,  too,  a  dash  of 
the  seafaring  man  about  him,  not  very  perceptible,  as 
a  general  thing,  but  most  so  when  his  manner  was 
the  least  repellant.  It  seemed  as  though  it  were  his 
pleasure  to  efface  from  his  memory  and  that  of  others 
that  he  ever  had,  if,  indeed,  he  had,  gone  "  down  to 
the  sea  in  ships,"  or  followed  the  roving  life  of  a 
"  dweller  on  the  deep." 

He  had  applied  himself  for  all  the  years  that  his  son 
remembered  to  the  pursuit  of  commerce,  part  of  the 
time  in  connection  with  his  father-in-law,  at  whose 
death  he  had  succeeded  to  the  entire  business  of  their 
large  mercantile  "  concern," — as  we  are  wont  to 
phrase  it  now-a-days.  Shrinking  with  nervous  dread 
from  society,  and  from  contact  with  a  world  of  which 
he  took  no  pains  to  conceal  his  contempt,  he  lived 
himself,  and  kept  his  family,  in  almost  unbroken  se- 
clusion, surrounded,  iiiaeed  oy  many  of  the  domestic 
appurtenances  of  wealth,  especially  in  matters  of 
taste, — and  doing  more  good  to  the  poor  of  the  city 
and  its  various  public  charities  than  many  who  made 
a  greater  show,  and  professed  a  greater  interest  in 
them.  His  children  knew  and  well  appreciated  his 
fine  qualities,  yet  their  love  of  him  was,  as  we  have 
seen,  strangely  mingled  with  fear,  and  its  manifesta- 
tion timid  and  constrained. 

Walking  out  one  evening  together  a  few  weeks 
after  Giacomo's  return,  while  the  lengthening  eve  of 
the  last  days  of  January  was  fading  from  the  cold 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYXE. 


147 


dear  sky,  the  sister  and  brother  talked  long  of  th« 
days  when  their  young  mother  was  with  them,  beau- 
tiful and  gentle,  and  loving. 

"  And  I  think  my  father  loved  her,"  said  Giacomo 
musingly,  as  though  half  unconscious  he  had  a  list- 
ener. 

'•  Loved  her,  Giacomo  ?"  said  his  sister  in  surprise, 
"  of  course  he  did,  brother,— how  could  he  help  lov- 
ing her  whom  every  one  loved  ?" 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  the  brother  absently,  "  but 
you  know,  Maddalena,  our  mother  was  not  what 
our  father  is  in  many  ways— she  was  a  child  always 
and  to  the  last— a  child  in  worldly  wisdom,  and  in 
book  knowledge,  whilst  he  was  a  man,  and  a  man  of 
superior  intelligence,  with  a  heart  tried  in  the  world's 
furnace.  Maddalena,  I  tell  you  there  was  little  in 
common  between  our  parents— they  were  never  made 
for  each  other." 

«  But,  Giacomo,  they  lived  happily  together.  You 
forget  that.     You  talk  so  strangely  !" 

"  If  I  say  now,  my  sister,  what  I  never  said  before, 
it  is  because  you  are  older  now  and  can  better  under- 
stand these  my  thoughts,  and  they  are  not  new  ones, 
I  assure  you." 

Maddalena  was  silent,  and  they  walked  on  a  little 
way  without  either  saying  a  word ;  at  last  the  sister 
spoke,  and  her  tone  was  graver  than  its  wont, — 
"  Brother,  it  may  have  been  as  you  say,  but  I  see  no 
use  in  talking  of  things,  now  past  and  gone.  Be* 
sides,  our  father  was  never  unkind  to  our  dear  mo 


148  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE. 

ther,  and  I  am  sure  she  loved  him  with  her  whole 
heart." 

"  She  did,"  said  Giacomo,  "  but  now  I  can  remem- 
ber that  there  was  ever  a  shadow  over  her  love,  a 
doubt  it  now  seems  to  me,  though  she  never  betrayed 
it  to  my  father.  But  to  me,  even  as  a  child,  she  has  often 
expressed  such  a  feeling,  and  said  it  was  her  constant 
prayer  to  overcome  it.  I  know  not  if  she  ever  did. 
But,  after  all,"  he  added,  seeing  that  his  words  im- 
pressed his  young  sister  more  deeply  than  bethought 
they  would,  "  after  all,  Maddalena,  these  may  be  only 
fancies  of  mine,  for,  though  you  have  never  given  me 
credit  for  imagination,  I  have  my  fancies,  too,  some- 
times." 

"  Not  always  so  gloomy  as  these,  I  hope !" 

"  Nay,  my  sweet  sister,  you  must  not  take  the  mat- 
ter so  seriously.  Our  parents  lived  as  happily  toge- 
ther, I  think,  as  most  married  people  do,  and  they 
never  gave  us  their  children  any  but  g*ood  example. 
Our  dear  mother  is  in  heaven  with  the  Madonna 
whom  she  loved  so  tenderly,  and  our  father  is  good 
enough  to  go  there,  too,  when  death  calls  him  hence. 
He  loves  us,  I  am  sure,  and  it  is  idle  to  raise  the  veil 
from  his  earlier  life  which  we  cannot,  if  we  would, 
penetrate." 

They  were  almost  at  home,  and  the  lingering 
shadows  were  entirely  dispelled  from  the  hearts  of 
both  by  a  fine  manly  voice  from  the  deck  of  a  ship 
that  was  passing  out  to  sea,  siDging  to  an  old  plaint- 
ive air — 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOTNE.  14ft 

54  Peggy  Bawn,  you  are  my  darling, 

And  my  heart  lies  within  your  breast, 
And  although  we're  at  a  distance, 

I  still  love  you  the  best. 
Although  the  raging  seas,  my  dear, 

Between  you  and  I  may  roar, 
Oh  !   P.  ggy  Bawn  be  true  to  me, 

Abd  111  love  you  f\.r  tvirmore." 

"  Ha !"  said  Giacomo,  "  that  should  bo  an  Irish 
Bailor — I  have  heard  Miss  Ackland's  old  Nancy  sing 
that  song  many  a  time.  That  poor  fellow  is  thinking 
of  his  sweetheart,  and  who  knows  but  she  is  in 
Drogheda  ?  Can  you  see  that  flag  that  is  at  her 
mast-head,  Maddalena ?" 

No,  the  night  had  now  closed  in,  and  Maddalena 
either  could  not  see  the  flag,  but  she  laughingly  said  : 
"I  should  like  to  know  whether  some  one  else  has 
not  left  a  sweetheart  in  that  Irish  town.  What  of 
your  b.  autiful  Rose  Ackland  ?" 

"  Nothing  in  particular,  sister  mine,  except  what 
I  have  told  you.  But  I  know  you  would  love  her 
if  you  on'y  knew  her." 

"  No,  brother,1'  and  Maddalena  shook  her  head, 
slowly ;  'fno,  I  might  like  the  Signorina  Rose,  but  I 
should  love  Miss  Ackland.  I  know  I  should,  and  1 ' 
pray  the  Madonna  every  day  that  I  may  one  day  see 
her,  if  it  were  only  long  enough  to  tell  her  how  I  lovf 
her,  and  how  often  I  have  prayed  for  her." 

They  had  reached  the  door  as  Maddalena  thug 
spoke,,  and  her  last  words  were  overheard  by  her  fa- 


150         THE  OLD  nOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

ther,  wlio  had  just  rung  the  bell,  and  was  waiting  foT 
admission. 

"  Of  whom  do  you  speak  in  such  enthusiastic  terms, 
Maddaleni  ?"  lie  inquired,  as  they  all  entered  the 
vestibule  together. 

"  Of  that  dear  good  Irish  lady,  father,  who  was  so 
kind  to  oar  Giacomo." 

"Oh!  you  mean  Miss  Ackland,  I  suppose.  Happy 
child!  through  what  a  golden  medium  you  see  all  the 
world,  and  all  the  people  in  it!  An  English,  or 
rather  a  Scotch  poet  has  said — • 

"  ■  'Tis  (Usance  lends  enchantment  to  the  view,' 
but   I    think  youth  is,   at  least,   as  illusive   as  dis- 
tance." 

The  cold  philosophy  with  which  their  father  treated 
a  subject  so  dear  to  both  the  young  people,  and  en- 
listing their  warmest  sympathies,  was  deeply  painful 
to  their  sense  of  gratitude,  and  Giacomo  could  not 
help  saying — 

"  I  only  wish,  father,  that  you  knew  Miss  Ackland 
as  I  know  her  !" 

A  look  of  some  strange  emotion  —a  sudden  and 
sharp  pain,  as  it  were, — came  into  the  deep  thought- 
ful eyes  of  the  father, — then  a  smile  of  doubtful 
meaning,  and  he  said,  coldly  and  calmly, — in  a  sort 
of  mocking  tone — 

"And  suppose  I  did,  Giacomo  !  what  tlicu  ?  I  am 
too  old  a  bird  now  to  be  caught  with  chaff.  I  have 
little  faith  in  woman,  or  woman's  ways."  He  then 
added,  with  a  softening  look  and  tone — "Yet  there 


TIIE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  151 

was  one  woman,  at  least,  true, — ay  !  true  as  the  nee* 
die  to  the  pole  !  Your  mother,  children,  your  poor 
mother,  was  all  truth,  truth  and  innocence  !  So  is 
my  Maddalena  !"  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  girl's 
shoulder,  and  looked  at  her  with  mr  re  fondness  than 
she  had  seen  in  his  eyes  since  she  sat  on  his  knees  in 
her  happy  childhood.  In  a  tumult  of  delightful  emo- 
tion she  escaped  from  the  room  to  muse  in  solitude  a 
little  while  over  the  many  peculiarities  which  marked 
her  father's  character,  and  the  gushing  tenderness 
that  forced  its  way  at  times  through  the  icy  coldness 
of  his  usual  demeanor.  Many  a  time  she  had  com- 
plained to  her  father  confessor,  who  had  also  been 
her  mother's,  of  the  little  affection  her  father  ever 
manifested  for  his  children,  and  as  often  had  the  good 
padre  told  her  that  she  must  not  judge  by  appear- 
ances, or  trouble  herself  about  her  father's  manner, 
but  go  on  loving  him,  obeying  him,  and  doing  all  she 
could  to  make  him  happy. 

One  day,  a  week  or  so  after  the  conversation  just 
referred  to,  Signor  Malvili  suddenly  raised  his  head 
from  a  book  he  had  been  reading,  and  asked  his  son 
if  Miss  Ackland  were  as  interesting  as  he  described 
her  how  it  happened  that  she  had  never  been  mar- 
ried, "  for  I  understood  you  to  say,"  said  he,  "  that 
she  is  no  longer  young." 

"That  I  cannot  account  for,  father,"  said  the 
young  man,  thoughtfully ;  "  the  same  thought  often 
puzzled  me,  as  I  sat  and  watched  her  when  wholly 
unconscious  of  observation;   she  seemed  to  give  tho 


152  TIIE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BO¥NE. 

leins  to  memory,  and   a  sweet  pensiveness   settled 
down  on  her  fine,  though  faded  fea.ures." 

"  Did  she  never  allude  to  her  past  life  in  youi 
hearing  ?" 

"  Never ;  and  I  could  not  help  wondering,  as  you 
say,  why  she  never  won  a  heart  to  which  her  own 
misrht  clinsr  with  woman's  devotior." 

"  Why,  Giacomo,"  said  his  father,  with  a  melancho- 
ly smile,  "  were  not  Miss  Ackland  so  many  years  your 
senior,  I  should  fear  that  she  had  won  your  heart." 

"  Won  my  heart,  father!''  exclaimed  the  son,  sur- 
prised to  hear  his  father  indulge  in  such  badinage; 
"  oh  !  there  was  little  danger  of  that."  He  spoke 
with  an  energy  that  startled  himself  and  drew  his 
father's  eyes  to  his  face  wTith  a  look  of  keen  inquiry. 
The  son  colored  to  the  very  temples ;  the  father 
shook  his  he-ad  and  sighed.  He  rose  from  his  seat, 
took  a  few  turns  up  and  down  the  room,  then  paused 
in  front  of  Giacomo.  and  said  to  him  with  his  usual 
calm  impassibility — 

"  Giacomo,  this  quiet  monotonous  life  of  ours  is  not 
suited  to  your  years ;  you  must  go  and  spend  some 
time  with  your  uncles  and  aunts  in  Florence  and  also 
in  Pisa.  You  can  spend  the  remainder  of  the  win- 
ter between  the  two  cities,  and  that  will  give  you  an 
opportunity  of  seeing  something  of  the  gay  world. 
Nay,  no  objections;  you  shall  start  the  day  after  to- 
morrow. I  will  write  to  your  uncle  Ludovico  this 
evening.  Go  tell  Maddalena  to  make  the  necessary 
preparations." 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYXE.  153 

11  But,  father,  I  came  home  so  lately,  and  I  have 
no  desire  for  seeing  the  gay  world.  Suffer  me  to  re- 
main with  yuu  and  my  dear  sister!" 

"  Giacomo,  I  have  said  that  you  are  to  go  ;  no  en- 
treaties can  alter  my  determination." 

There  was  nothing  for  it  now  but  to  obey  this  un- 
welcome mandate  with  the  best  grace  possible,  for 
Giacomo  was  not  the  son  to  dispute  his  father's  will, 
and  his  was  not  the  father  to  permit  him,  if  he  did. 
Maddalena  was  both  grieved  and  surprised  by  this 
new  and  sudden  idea  of  sending  her  beloved  brother 
away  from  home  so  soon  again,  and  for  several  weeks, 
but  she  knew  by  experience  that  no  effort  of  hers 
could  change  her  father's  stern  will,  and  she  quietly 
went  to  work  to  prepare  all  that  was  necessary  for 
Giacomo  to  take  with  him,  the  tears  streaming  from 
her  eyes,  and  her  heart  heavy  with  sorrow. 

That  evening,  the  last  but  one  that  Giacomo  was 
to  be  at  home,  for  what  seemed  a  very  long  time,  his 
sister  asked  him  to  sing;  she  had  not  heard  him  sing 
since  his  return  from  Ireland.  They  were  alone  to 
gether. 

"  I  cannot  refuse  you,  my  sweet  sister,"  said  the 
young  man  kindly  and  tenderly,  "  though  I  never  was 
in  less  humor  of  singing.     What  shall  I  sing?" 

u  Anything  you  like."  And  she  handed  him  her  guitar, 

"  I  will  sing  you  a  song,  then,  that  I  learned  in 
Drogheda."  And  he  sang  a  pretty  ballad,  old  even 
then,  but  still  popular  in  the  British  Islands — "  Pooi 
Bessy  was  a  Sailor's  Bride." 


154  TIIE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNB. 

Maddalena  was  delighted  with  the  little  English 
ballad  and  its  sweet  sympathetic  air,  but  she  was  not 
yet  satisfied,  and  petitioned  for  another  song. 
"English  or  Italian?" 

"  Oh !  English,  to  be  sure,  it  is  not  often  I  hear 
English  songs." 

This  time  Giacomo  sang  one  of  the  most  popular 
of  Haynes  Bayley's  drawing-room  lyrics — u  Isle  of 
Beauty  !"  and  his  voice  was  full  of  pathos  and  quiver- 
ing with  strong  emotion  as  he  sang  the  last  stanza, 
particularly — 

"  Whilst  the  waves  are  round  me  breaking, 

As  I  pace  the  deck  alone, 
And  mine  eyes  in  vain  are  seeking 

Some  green  leaf  to  rest  upon, 
What  would  I  not  give  to  wander 

Where  my  old  companions  dwell, 
Absence  makes  the  heart  grow  fonder, 
Isle  of  Beauty,  fare  thee  well!" 

He  had  just  ended  the  song  and  was  playing  the 
symphony  when  his  father  suddenly  opened  the  door 
from  a  small  study-room  where  he  spent  many  of  his 
in-door  hours,  although  neither  the  brother  nor  sister 
knew  of  his  being  there  then  He  was  pale,  paler 
even  than  usual,  but  his  voice  was  calm  and  his  tone 
passionless,  as  he  said  : 

"  I  see  you  have  been  learning  socio  songs  during 
your  absence,  Giacomo !  pray,  of  whom  did  you 
learn  those  you  have  been  just  singing?" 

"  I  learned  them  of  Miss  A^kland,  father ,  they 
are  two  of  her  particular  favori^s.  and  I  have  heard 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  155 

her  sing  them  over  and  over  so  many  times  that  I 
had  no  trouble  in  learning  them.  I  heard  her  say 
that  they  were  endeared  to  her  by  the  sweetest  and 
saddest  recollections  of  her  life." 

"  Indeed  !— Did  Miss  Ackland  say  that  ?  How 
very  strange  !"  said  the  elder  Malvili,  with  a  ghastly 
smile ;  "  perhaps  the  lady  may  have  had  heart-ties 
once, — old  mnid  as  you  say  she  is  now  !" 

"  Nay,  father,  I  did  not  call  Miss  Ackland  an  old 
maid,"  began  Giacomo,  but  his  father  hud  left  th« 
room. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Spring  was  abroad,  and  the  earth  was  glad,  and  ths 
waters  bounded  on  their  way  rejoicing  in  the  merry 
8unshine ;  the  Boyne,  brightest  of  rivers,  ran  cheerily 
on  between  the  lovely  scenes  that  margin  its  course  ; 
the  fields  and  meadows  were  green,  and  the  trees 
were  already  putting  forth  their  earliest  blossoms. 
The  linnet  and  the  thrush  made  groves  and  gardens 
vocal,  and*  all  nature  wras  gay.  The  old  town  of 
Drogheda  sat  looking  down  on  the  placid  stream 
that  flowed  in  her  midst,  with  the  calm  contentment 
of  reverend  age,  a  time-mellowed  picture  that  bright 
spring  day.  Around  the  home  of  the  Acklands  on 
St.  Catherine's  Mount,  the  sunshine  fell  all  goldenly; 
there  was  joy  abroad  in  the  air  and  on  the  earth,  and 
on  the  glancing  waters,  but  within  the  old  house 
there  was  no  joy,  but  gloom,  even  the  gloom  of 
death, — and  were  it  not  a  Christian  household  there 
would  have  been  dark  despondency  as  well,  for  old 
George  Ackland  had  been  gathered  to  his  fathers, 
and  with  him  died  out  the  slender  means  which  had 
btood  between  the  family  and  utter  poverty.  In  the 
last  days  of  winter  the  old  man  passed  away,  tranquil 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  EOYNE.         157 

and  resigned,  on  his  own  account,  but  troubled  with 
anxiety  for  those  he  left  behind,  now  thrown  entirely 
on  their  own  exertions  for  a  maintenance,  they  who 
might  once  have  expected  not  only  competence,  but 
wealth.  These  gloomy  thoughts  were  not  suffered, 
however,  to  weigh  heavily  on  his  mind  ;  his  daugh- 
ter reminded  him  that  she  and  Rose  were  both  well 
able  to  earn  a  living  for  themselves  by  the  exercise 
of  those  talents  which  he,  in  the  days  of  his  prosper- 
ity, had  spared  no  expense  to  cultivate*  it  would  be 
easy  supporting  two,  Miss  Ackland  said,  especially 
when  they  were  in  a  position  to  assist  eacn  other. 
And  Rose,  though  her  heart  was  breaking,  hid  hei 
grief,  and  schooled  her  face  and  her  voice  into  some- 
thing like  cheerfulness,  find  told  her  dear  grandpapa 
not  to  trouble  himself  about  her  or  her  aunt,  for  that 
they  would  be  sure  to  get  along  well;  that  losing  him 
was  their  only  trouble,  and  they  did  not  want  to  see 
him  fretting  about  anything  that  merely  concerned 
them;  and  besides  she  ridiculed  the  idea  that  ''grand- 
papa"  was  going  to  die,  and  at  times  half  persuaded 
himself  that  the  Great  Summoner  had  not  yet  issued 
his  warrant.  Never  had  Rose  appeared  to  so  much 
advantage  as  during  those  days  and  nights  of  anxious 
watching,  and  many  a  time  her  aunt  thought,  as  her 
eyes  followed  her  with  affectionate  admiration,  how 
iittle  we  know  people  by  the  ordinary  seeming  of 
their  daily  life. 

But  the  suspense,  the  uncertainty  wTas  over ;  death 
had  claimed  his  own,  and  the  venerable  parent,  around 


158  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNB. 

whom  the  hearts  of  his  daughter  and  granddaughter 
had  intertwined  as  the  missletoe  round  the  forest 
oak,  lay  low  in  the  earth,  never  to  bless  their  eyes 
again  till  their  own  turn  came  to  cross  the  dread 
boivne  that  separates  time  from  eternity. 

They  had  many  friends,  the  Acklands,  and  many 
invitations  for  "  long  visits"  had  been  given  them  in 
all  kindness  and  sincerity,  with  a  view  to  take  them 
from  a  place  so  full  of  sad  and  bitter  associations  as 
their  old  home  was  then.  But  they  could  not  be 
prevailed  on  to  leave  it,  for,  lonely  as  it  was,  it  was 
still  their  home,  dear  and  sacred  because  of  its  thou- 
sand memories,  so  sweetly  soothing  to  their  hearts, 
and  in  its  still  seclusion  they  could  weep  unseen  and 
alone.  As  yet  they  had  received  no  visits,  except 
from  a  very  few  of  their  oldest  friends,  and  most  of 
their  time  was  spent  arranging  everything,  with 
Nancy's  assistance,  for  the  final  breaking  up  of  their 
little  household,  to  which  they  all  three  looked  for- 
ward with  heavy  hearts.  Poor  Nancy  was  inconsol- 
able; although  a  moiith  had  passed  since  Mr.  Ack- 
land's  death,  she  still  could  not  speak  of  him  without 
tears,  and  it  was  her  frequent  remark  that  she  "  cried 
the  old  master  then  as  fresh  as  the  day  he  died,  the 
glory  of  Heaven  to  his  soul !" — "An'  sure  good  right 
I  have,'1  she  would  add,  "  for  it's  me  that  lost  the 
good  friend  when  the  breath  left  his  body !" 

So  the  old  house  was  lonely,  lonelier  than  ever,  yet 
all  its  remaining  inmates  desired  was  that  they  might 
be  able  to  stay  in  it.     Of  this  there  seemed  at  first 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  It  9 

little  probability,  notwithstanding  the  earnest  injunc- 
tion of  Mr.  Ackland  during  his  last  illness  not  to 
break  up  the  old  home,  or  let  the  old  house  pnss  into 
the  hands  of  strangers  unless  it  became  actually  ne- 
cessary to  do  so.  But  Miss  Ackland  saw  no  way,  at 
first,  of  paying  off  some  trifling  debts,,  and  providing 
the  means  of  present  existence,  except  for  Rose  to 
take  a  situation  as  governess  or  companion,  and  her- 
ielf  to  sell  the  house  and  most  of  the  furniture,  then 
remove  with  Nancy  to  lodgings,  and  commence  giv- 
ing music  and  drawing  lessons,  or,  perhaps,  go  out 
as  visiting  governess. 

But  things  were  not  destined  to  be  quite  so  bad  as 
that;  Miss  Ackland  soon  found  that  she  had  friends 
who  were  like  William  of  Deloraine,  "  good  at  need," 
and  were  quite  indignant  at  the  thought  of  her  giving 
up  the  old  place  that  was  so  much  endeared  to  them 
all. 

The  aunt  and  niece  were  busy  in-doors  that  bright 
spring  morning;  they  had  happily  left  off  the  sad  pre- 
parations before  mentioned,  and  were  now  arranging 
the  large  front-parlor  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the 
hall  as  a  school-room,  for  on  the  following  Monday 
Miss  Ackland  was  to  open  a  school,  and  quite  a  num- 
ber of  pupils  were  already  promised  to  her.  The 
two  ladies  were  in  deep  mourning,  and  Nancy,  when 
*he  came  in  to  help,  looked  every  inch  the  respectable 
old  follower  of  a  good  family  in  her  black  gown  and 
clean  check  apron  and  cap  as  white  as  snow.  All 
vhere  were  grave,  but  the  first  shock  of  grief  having 


LOO  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

passed  away,  they  could  speak  now  more  hopefully 
of  the  future,  and  of  their  opening  prospects.  On 
that  head  there  was  no  reserve  with  Nancy,  for 
Nancy  was,  indeed,  one  of  the  family,  entirely  devoted 
to  their  interests,  and  losing  therein  all  thought  of 
her  own, — so  long  as  the  ladies  could  live  together  in 
the  old  house  and  she  with  them,  Nancy's  wishes 
were  amply  satisfied. 

"  Wasn't  it  just  like  Mr.  Brodigan,  Aunt  Lydia," 
said  Rose,  as  she  mounted  a  chair  to  hang  a  map  of 
the  world  on  the  wall — "wasn't  it  just  like  him  to  go 
and  pay  our  little  debts  himself,  without  even  saying 
a  word  about  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Rose,  that  was  the  act  of  a  gener- 
ous friend.  He  had  asked  me  to  put  what  we  owed 
to  each  person  on  paper,  just,  as  he  said,  for  his  own 
private  information,  and  to  get  them  to  wait  a  little 
till  we  should  be  able  to  pay  them  off  by  degrees." 

"  And  Harry  Cusack,  too,  offering  his  services 
so  kindly,  although  you  didn't  see  fit  to  trouble  him 
in  any  way." 

"  Of  course  not,  Rose,  it  would  not  have  been  pru- 
dent, you  know,  to  place  ourselves  under  any  obliga- 
tion to  him,  though  I  am,  and  shall  ever  be  deeply 
grateful  for  his  genuine  kindness." 

"  Poor  fellow  !"  said  Rose,  "  I  declare  I  shall  never 
laugh  at  him  again — no,  never !" 

"  You  should  never  have  laughed  at  him,"  said  hei 
aunt  gravely,  "his  little  foibles  are  all  on  the  sur- 
face, and  he  is  at  bottom  a  very  worthy  man.     T  wish, 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TUE    BOYNE.  161 

my  dear  child,  you  would  never  amuse  yourself  at 
the  expense  of  the  little  peculiarities  of  your  friends 
and  ncquaintances.     It  is  a  dangerous  habit," 

"  Oh  dear,  Aunt  Lydia,  there  is  no  need  to  lecture 
me  now  on  that  point !  I  am  in  little  humor  of  laugh- 
ing  at  any  one  since  poor  dear  rrandpapa  is  gone  ! 
I  don't  think  I  shall  ever,  ever  langh  again  !"  And 
fairly  bursting  into  tears,  the  affectionate  girl  ran  out 
of  the  room  to  indulge  her  grief  unseen. 

"  Poor  child  !"  said  Nancy  wiping  her  own  eyes, 
"  it'll  do  her  good  to  have  her  cry  out.  It'll  do  her 
good.  Ochone !  she  may  well  cry  him  that's  gone, 
an'  so  may  we  all,  so  may  we  ail  !" 

"Very  true,  Nancy,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  with  dif- 
ficulty repressing  her  own  tears,  "  but  we  must  all  try 
to  bear  our  loss  patiently,  and  go  through  the  busi- 
ness of  life  as  though  lie  were  still  amongst  us." 

Nancy  was  silent,  but  she  thought  to  herself — "  Oh ! 
that's  her  all  over.  She  never  lets  any  trouble  in  on 
her  the  same  as  others.  An'  sure  it's  well  for  her  she 
does  not,  for  if  she  did  she'd  be  dead  herself,  or  out 
of  her  wits,  long  ago,  the  crature  !" 

When  the  day's  occupations  were  over  and  the 
two  ladies  sat  by  the  fire  which  the  chili  evening  ren- 
dered still  welcome,  in  the  dear  old  back-parlor  so 
hallowed  in  their  recollections,  they  remained  long 
silent,  each  oppressed  by  ihe  thick-coming  memories! 
that  started  like  shadows  from  the  gloom  of  thoil 
hearts. 


162  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOtfNE. 

But  at  length  Miss  Ac\land  made  an  effort  to  rouse 
both  herself  and  Rose  from  their  sad  reflections. 

"I  wrote  to  Giacomo  today,  Rose!"  she  said 
abruptly. 

"Ah  !  he  will  be  sorry  to  hear  of  poor  grandpas 
dt/ath;  I  know  he  liked  him  very  much." 

"  He  little  thought  when  he  wrote  that  kind  letter 
we  had  from  him  a  few  days  ago  that  the  little  circle 
he  remembered  so  lovingly  was  already  broken  by 
cruel  death." 

"  I  wonder  will  he  ever  come  back  again,  Aunt 
Lydia  ?" 

"  It  is  not  very  likely,  my  dear,  at  least  for  a  long 
long  time." 

"  Poor  Signor !"  said  Rose,  "  it  makes  me  sad  to 
think  how  merry  we  all  were  when  he  was  here,  and 
that  such  a  very  little  while  ago." 

"  Well !  my  dear  child,  that  is  life,  as  you  will  learn 
long  before  you  are  my  age.  To  the  calm  succeeds 
the  storm,  to  the  storm,  calm ;  to  sunshine,  shade, 
and  to  shade,  sunshine.  It  is  the  natural  course  of 
things,  and  they  are  wTisest  and  happiest  who  can 
bear  with  equanimity  life's  changes  as  they  come." 

"But,  aunt,"  said  Rose,  drawing  closer  to  Miss 
Ackland,  and  lowering  her  voice  perhaps  unconsci- 
ously, "  do  you  remember  how  old  Mabel  sent  you 
word  one  evening  by  me  that  she  had  heard  the  ban- 
shee often  of  late, — wasn't  that  a  strange  coincidence 
Lo  say  the  least  of  it  ?" 

'  Nut  at  all,  my  dear,"  said  her  aunt  with  a  sad 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  163 

smile,  "  your  grandpapa  would  have  died  all  the  same 
whether  Mabel  heard  the  banshee  or  not — that  is, 
what  she  supposed  was  the  banshee." 

"  Then  you  don't  believe  in  the  banshee,  aunt  ?" 

"Believe  in  the  banshee— of  course  I  do  not. 
That  superstition,  like  many  others,  has  grown  out 
of  the  ardent  imagination  of  the  simple  and  unlet- 
tered of  our  people  in  the  ages  past  away." 

"  But,  aunt,  every  one  says  that  the  banshee  follows 
all  the  old  families,  and  when  so  many  people  hear 
her,  there  must  be  such  a  being,  you  know." 

"  Why,  my  dear  little  Rose,"  said  Miss  Ackland, 
with  an  attempt  at  cheerfulness,  "  I  fear  you  are 
growing  superstitious  since  we  have  been  left  all 
alone." 

"No,  no,  aunt,  indeed  I  am  not  superstitious,  but 
I  want  to  know  how  Mabel,  or  any  one  else,  could 
hear  the  banshee  if  there  were  no  banshee  to  be 
heard.     What  do  you  suppose  Mabel  heard?" 

"  Very  possibly  the  winds,  my  dear  child  !  If  you 
remember  we  had  stormy  weather  about  that  time." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it  was  one  of  those  very  nights  that 
the  San  Pietro  was  lost,"  and  Rose  lapsed  again  into 
thoughtfulness. 

"  Talking  of  the  banshee,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  with 
a  view  to  change  the  current  of  her  thoughts,  "you 
remember  that  song  of  Moore's,  beginning  thus — 

t: '  How  oft  has  tlio  banshee  ci  i.  <!.' 
How  naturally  and  how  beautifully  he  has  embodied 
many  of  the  national  c.istoms  and  the  national  super* 


10£  the  old  nousr.  by  tuts  boynts. 

Btitions  in  his  immortal  melodies !  You  know  how 
gracefully  ho  introduces  one  of  our  old  fairy  legends 
in  the  last  stanzi  of '  The  time  I've  lost  in  wooing  ?'  " 
"Yes,  I  know  the  lines  you  mean,  aunt,"  said  Rose, 
brightening  up,  and  she  repeated  with  something  like 
her  former  vivacity — ■ 

"  Likt  han.  the  sprite, 
Whom  maids  a    night 

Ofi  meet  in  glen  .lint's  haunted. 
Lik-him.  too   bau'y  won  roe, 
But  while  her  eyes  were  on  me, 
For  when  h^r  gaze  was  turn'd  away, 
Oh!  wiuda  could  n  >t  outrun  me." 

"You  see,"  said  her  aunt,  "there  is  just  the  old 
story  of  the  Irprachaun, — the  fairies'  shoemaker, — 
which  Nancy  has  often  told  you." 

"  So  it  is,  I  declare  !  Well !  I  never  thought  of 
that,  often  as  I  sang  the  song." 

Thus  insensibly  led  aft  ay  from  her  melancholy 
thoughts,  Rose  began  to  turn  to  the  future,  and  wns 
the  first  to  speak  of  their  plans,  of  the  school  ar- 
rangements, and  other  matters  appertaining  to  their 
changing  prospects. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Rose,  "  how  the  Vernons  and 
Brodigans — I  mean  the  girls — will  treat  me,  now 
that  we  have  come  down  to  teaching  school." 

"My  dear  Rose,  why  do  you  call  it  coming  down  ? 
There  is  nothing  disgraceful,  surely,  in  turning  to  ac- 
count whatever  talents  and  attainments  God  has  be- 
stowed  upon  us  ?" 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE,         165 

"  Oh  !  no,  aunt,  I  didn't  mean  that  there  was,  or  that 
I  am  the  least  ashamed  of  it,  but  then,  you  know, 
others  may  think  different!/,  and  girls,  especially,  may 
look  down  on  us." 

"  Rose,"  said  Miss  Ackland  very  seriously,  c;  the 
opinion  of  any  one  who  could  look  down  on  us,  as 
you  say,  for  maintaining  ourselves  by  our  own  exer- 
tions, is  not  worth  considering,  and  if  I  am  not 
much  mistaken,  we  shall  be  more  respected  in  our 
school-room  than  we  ever  were  in  our  days  of  com- 
parative idleness." 

Rose  shook  her  head  and  sighed ;  she  could  not 
see  the  matter  in  the  same  light  that  her  aunt  did, 
but  she  wTould  not  say  so,  and  both  lapsed  into  silent 

thought. 

#  *  #  #  #  # 

The  school  opened  on  the  fo'lowing  Monday,  and 
the  attendance  of  pupils  was  sufficiently  encouraging 
lo  cheer  even  Rose,  who,  to  do  her  justice,  went  into 
ihe  harness  w;th  right  good  will,  determined  to  do 
her  full  share  of  the  drudgery  of  teaching,  and  save 
ner  dear  aunt  as  much  as  possible.  "  If  our  school 
does  not  succeed,"  said  Rose  to  herself,  and  also  to 
Nancy,  her  trusty  confidante,  H  it  shall  not  be  my 
fault,  for  I  am  going  to  do  my  very  best."  Poor  Rose  ! 
her  best  was  not  much,  for  many  a  long  day  and 
week,  but  she  strove  hard  and  finally  became  a  good 
teacher  in  those  branches  of  instruction  which  de- 
volved on  her. 

Her  industry   and    perseverance    were  rewarded. 


166        THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

Contrary  to  her  expectations,  and  to  her  very  agree- 
able surprise  she  was  not  "looked  down  upon"  by 
her  young  acquaintances.  Invitations  poured  in  on 
her  after  the  first  period  of  mourning  had  elapsed. 
And  though  she  accepted  none  for  large  parties  her 
aunt  insisted  on  her  going  out  evenings  more  than 
she  had  ever  done  before,  forcing  her  own  inclinations 
so  far  as  to  accompany  her.  This  she  did  in  order  to 
keep  up  Rose's  spirits,  and  counteract  the  depressing 
effect  of  the  monotonous  and  fatiguing  occupations  of 
her  daily  life.  Miss  Ackland,  in  her  watchful  care 
of  her  beloved  niece,  acted  on  the  homely  old  axiom 
that  •'  all  work  and  no  play  make  Jack  a  dull  boy,1' 
and  she  would  not  that  the  freshness  of  life's  joyous 
springtime  should  be  blighted  in  its  fair  promise  by 
the  unvarying  tedium  of  hard  work  and  unbroken  se- 
clusion. 

And  Rose  made  conquests  during  those  times,  con- 
quests that  mu.h  amazed  some  of  her  wealthier  and 
better  dressed  acquaintances.  Not  to  speak  of  Harry 
Cusack,  who  had  become  quite  particular  in  his 
attentions,  there  were  some  of  the  first  young  men  of 
the  trading  community  about  Drogheda  who  would 
gladly  have  won  the  hand  of  the  portionless  grand- 
child of  George  Ackland,  the  heiress  of  his  good 
name,  and  the  brightest  and  fairest  of  Drogheda 
maidens.  But  Rose,  though  gay  and  affable  with  all, 
appeared  to  make  no  distinction,  and  received  the  at- 
tentions of  her  various  admirers  more  as  a  matter  of 
course  than  as  anything  meant  to  be  seriously  taken, 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 


167 


Pro\oked  and  mortified  by  her  studied  indifference 
her  would-be  suitors  came  one  after  another  to  the 
same  conclusion  that  Giacomo  had  readied  months 
before,  that  Rose  Ackland  had  no  heart.  Never- 
theless, they  were  only  the  more  determined  to  per- 
severe to  the  end,  whatever  it  might  be,  for  Rose's 
careless  ease  was  provokingly  piquant,  and  her  ad« 
mirers  found  to  their  cost  that  she,  by  no  means, 

" charm  <1  ihem  1  asi  wh  n  she  mosi  r-  p  lid.  ' 

Every  Sunday  the  elder  and  the  younger  Miss 
Ackland  were  expected  to  spend  at  Mr.  Brodigan's, 
and  around  the  hospitable  board  were  generally  as- 
sembled some  of  the  old  fainiliar  faces  oftenest  seen 
at  Mr.  Ackland's — in  his  more  prosperous  days. 
They  were  very  pleasant  those  Sunday  dinners  at  Mr. 
Brodigan's, — and  we  might  add  at  many  another 
Drogheda  merchant's, — when  old  friends  came  to- 
gether, as  it  were  en  famiUe,  week  after  week,  to  en- 
joy the  bounteous,  yet  unostentatious  hospitality  of 
the  large  hearted  host,  and  his  comely  spouse,  both 
the  very  personification  of  good  nature  ;  when  almost 
every  subject  of  interest  was  common  to  all,  and  the 
whole  circle  was  in  that  happy  condition  prospectively 
described  by  the  poet — 

"  Wli  d  fast  as  a  fe.  ling  bu1  touches  one  link, 
I.s  ma^ic  shall  send  ii  direct  thro'  the  chain." 

One  peculiarity  of  these  genial  reunions  was  the  re- 
markable absence  of  slander  and  that  ill-natured  criti- 
cism on  the  real  or  supposed  defects,  mental,  moral  or 
physical,  of  others,  which  too  often  make?  the  staple 


168  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TIIS:    BOYNE. 

of  conversation.  The  imperturbable  good  nature  of 
the  host  and  hostess  diffused  all  around  them  such 
an  atmosphere  of  kindly  feeling  that  the  poisonous 
weed  of  slander  might  not  grow  within  the  sphere  of 
their  influence.  There  was  much  harmless  mirth, 
and  much  development  of  character,  in  the  unre- 
strained freedom  of  that  friendly  intercourse,  and  ono 
always  felt  that  the  best  feelings  of  their  nature  were 
somehow  called  into  play,  and  that  they  left  Mr.  Bro 
digan's  better  and  happier  for  being  there,  and  mons 
disposed  to  look  kindly  and  lovingly  on  their  fellow- 
creatures.  Then  there  were,  as  might  be  expected, 
little  by-plays  going  on  amongst  the  well-assorted 
guests  and  the  family  of  the  house,  little  scenes  being 
enacted  that  just  served  to  ripple  the  otherwise  too 
placid  stream.  There  every  one  being  perfectly  at 
home,  so  every  one  appeared  in  their  own  proper 
character,  and  the  distinctive  peculiarities  of  all  gave 
zest  and  variety  to  the  whole.  And  all  were  perpe- 
tually furnishing  "  coincidences"  for  worthy  Mr.  Bro- 
digan,  sentimental  reflections  to  his  daughter  Jane, 
and  arch  drollery  for  Rose  Ackland.  And  rosy  Mrs. 
Brodigan  sat  smiling  on  all  in  her  goodly  rotundity 
of  figure,  fat,  fair,  and  wTell  preserved,  her  brown  hair 
brown  as  ever,  and  her  brown  eyes  as  soft  and  calm. 
It  was  hard  to  say  whether  she  or  her  husband  most 
enjoyed  the  society  of  their  friends,  or  loved  the  most 
to  see  them  gather  around  their  table.  That  was 
Drogheda  twenty  years  ago,  and  all  who  knew  it  then 
miy  well  hope  that  it  is  so  still ! 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    xiOYNE.  169 

The  Sunday  dinner  at  Mr.  Brodigan's  was  gener- 
aUy  preceded,  in  the  fine  season,  by  an  excursion  to- 
some  of  the  many  beautiful  places  in  the  vicinity, — 
to  Oldbridge  and  King  William's  Glen,  to  Townley 
Hail,  or  Bendy, — sometimes  to  the  lovely  pastoral 
banks  of  the  Nanny-Water,  and  the  ancient  Castle 
of  Jigginstown,  or  Bally  garth,  or  farther  on  to  Gor- 
manstown  Castle,  the  baronial  mansion  of  the  Lords  of 
that  name,  and  the  noble  family  of  Preston.  Or  dow.i 
to  the  coast  the  party  might  take  their  way,  for  a 
pleasant  drive  along  the  smootli  white  sand,  past 
Baltray  and  Mornington  and  Bettys  own,  where  the 
people  they  met  all  knew  them,  and  exchanged  a 
kind,  or  a  humorous  greeting  with  each  as  they  passed 
in  their  several  vehicles,  jaunting-car  or  gig,  or  "  in- 
side car,"  as  the  case  might  be.  Pleasant  they  were, 
too,  those  rural  excursions  around  the  old  borough, 
to  places  interesting  of  themselves,  because  of  the 
lavish  hand  wherewith  mother  nature  had  adorned 
them,  each  in  their  kind,  and  still  more  interesting 
from  their  various  associations  with  historical  or 
legendary  lore. 

It  was  one  of  Miss  Ackland's  chief  enjoyments  to 
walk  out  with  Rose  in  the  early  evening,  when  the 
labors  and  cares  of  the  day  were  over,  and  stroll 
leisurely  along  some  of  the  fine  promenades  in  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  the  town.  Above  all  she 
loved,  and  Rose,  too,  the  picturesque  heights  of  Rath- 
mullen,  and  the  shady  walk  beneath  the  over-arch- 
ing trees,  between  fields  a-nd  orchards  and  gardens  ia 


170  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

their  bloom,  whence  ever  and  anon  were  glimpses 
caught  of  the  stream  far  below,  threading  its  seaward 
way,  and  through  the  long  vistas  of  the  sylvan  alleys 
might  be  seen  at  no  great  distance  up  the  river,  the 
Obelisk  commemorating  the  defeat  of  the  too  faith- 
ful Irish  who  fought  and  died  for  an  ungrateful 
foreign  prince. 

There  was  a  certain  green  meadow,  or  paddock  it 
might  be  called,  just  on  the  verge  of  the  precipitous 
heights  overlooking  the  river;  a  sweet  shady  nook  it 
was,  surrounded  by  fine  old  trees,  with  a  path  run- 
ning diagonally  across  it  from  the  road  to  the  brow 
of  the  steep ;  there  the  two  ladies  often  sat  to  rest  in 
the  still  evening  hour  when  earth  and  air  were  hushed 
and  the  thin  mists  were  hovering  like  shadows 
over  the  landscape  far  and  near.  They  loved  to 
hear  the  milkmaid  singing  in  some  adjoining  field 
some  old-time  ditty  of  faithful  love  or  pitiful  murder ; 
or  the  laborer  going  from  work,  whistling  as  he 
went.  Sometimes  they  heard  from  a  boat  on  the 
river,  or  a  cart  driving  slowly  homeward  along  the 
neighboring  highway,  snatches  of  some  local  song,  it 
might  be  this — 

"  July  the  First  at  Oldbridge  town, 
There  was  a  grievous  battle, 
Where  many  a  man  lay  on  the  ground, 
And  the  cannons  loud  did  rattle." 

And  there  was  little  of  sympathy  or  compassion  in 
the  voices  thereabouts  that  sang  how 

"  Brave  Duke  Schomberg  lost  his  life, 
In  crossing  the  Boyne  Water." 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         171 

But  what  visions  of  "  the  pomp  and  circumstance 
of  glorious  war"  did  the  rustic  lay  conjure  up  as, 
with  "  Oldbridge  town"  full  in  sight,  the  thoughtful 
mind  reverted  to  that  disastrous  day  nigh  two  hun- 
dred years  before,  when  three  kingdoms  were  lost 
and  bloodily  won  on  that  memorable  spot,  and  amid 
those  scenes,  now  so  calm,  so  redolent  of  peace, 

Anon  some  full  manly  voice  would  come  softened 
to  the  ear  over  the  still  waters  trolling — 

"  When  first  to  this  country  a  stranger  I  came, 
I  placed  my  aff<  ctions  on  a  comely  young  dame, 
She's  straight,  tall,  and  handsome  in  every  degree, 
She's  the  flower  of  this  country  and  ihe  Rose  of  Ardee." 

Then  Miss  Ackland  would  tell  her  young  niece  of 
the  straggling  and  neglected  village  of  Ardee  away 
in  the  northern  part  of  the  county,  adj  ining  Mon- 
aghan,  where  one  of  the  old  border-castles  of  the  Pale 
still  frowns,  even  in  decay,  over  the  quiet  street  be- 
neath and  the  tame  stretch  of  level  country  spread- 
ing around,  and  where,  in  a  nameless  grave  some- 
where amongst  those  sandy  knolls,  sleeps  the  ouflaw 
Redmond  O'Hanlon,  treacherously  murdered  in  the 
vicinity  by  an  English  captain,  to  whose  plighted 
faith  lie  had  trusted  his  life  for  the  purpose  of  holding 
a  parley.  Then  Miss  Ackland  told  Rose  all  the  won- 
derful tales  that  her  youth  had  heard  of  that  strangely- 
misrepresented  chieftain,  who,  instead  of  being  the 
low  robber  he  has  been  made  to  appear  in  latter 
times,  was  in  reality  an  accomplished  gentleman,  of 
great  personal  attractions  and  of  ancient  lineage,  who 


172  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

had  served  in  the  Austrian  wars,  like  so  many  other 
Irish  exiles  of  his  time,  and  actually  bore  the  rank  of 
a  Count  of  the  Empire.  From  a  chivalrous  desire  to 
aid  his  oppressed  country  and  co-religionists  at  home, 
Redmond  O'Hanlon  returned  to  his  native  land,  to 
whose  service  he  bravely  but  ineffectually  devoted 
himself  as  a  leader  of  the  outlawed  Rapparees  or 
"  Tories." 

Rose  was  inexpressibly  charmed  by  this  romantic 
story  of  the  past,  especially  as  her  aunt  assured  her 
that  it  was  as  well  authenticated  in  all  its  principal 
parts  as  many  recorded  on  the  historic  page.  The 
girTs  ardent  fancy  had  ample  room  to  exercise  itself 
on  the  hair-breadth  'scapes,  the  gallant  deeds,  the 
manifold  privations  of  this  Irish  prcux  chevalier,  in  his 
roving  life  of  incessant  danger  with  the  wild  and 
lawless  band  who  called  him  master. 

Lost  in  this  new  region  of  old  romance,  Rose  wan 
almost  sorry  when  her  aunt  reminded  her  that 
night  was  fast  closing  in,  and  that  they  had  rather  a 
\owely  walk  home. 

They  had  just  crossed  the  stile  to  the  high-road 
when  an  incident  occurred  which  alarmed  Rose,  and 
even  her  aunt,  more  than  a  little,  and  convinced  them 
that  it  was  not  prudent  to  linger  so  Lite  in  that  se- 
cluded spot,  however  great  might  be  the  temptation. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  party  of  officers,  three  in  numb*  r,  and  evidently 
fresh  from  the  mess-room,  were  passing  at  the  mo- 
ment; they  laughed  and  talked  in  that  loud  excited 
way  which  indicates  a  certain  degree  of  intoxication, 
and  seeing  the  two  ladies  they  probably  thought  it  a 
good  opportunity  for  having  "  a  lark.''    The  youngest 
of  the  three,  accordingly,  came  up  to  Rose,  and  with 
a  mock  politeness  offered  his  arm,  asking  permission 
to  "  see  her  home."     Another  did  the  same  to  Miss 
Ackland,  whilst  a  third,  a  tall,  soldierly  man,  stood  as 
if  enjoying  the  joke.     Miss  Ackland  di  ew  her  niece's 
arm  within  her  own,  and  merely  saying—"  I  perceive, 
gentlemen,  you  are  under  a  mistake,''  walked  on  with 
as  much  composure  as  she  could  assume.     But  the 
others  were  not  to  be  so  got  rid  of;  declaring  with 
ironical  gravity  that  they  could  not  think  of  allowing 
ladies  to  remain  unprotected  at  th:\t  late  hour,  and 
exchanging  glances  amongst  themselves,  they  walked 
on  beside  the   aunt  and  niece,  peering  under  their 
bonnets,  and  otherwise  annoying  them  by  ridiculous 
questions  which,  of  course,  they  did  not  deign  to  no- 
tice.    The  two  first  mentioned  kept  their  places  on 


17*1  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

either  side  of  the  ladies,  whilst  the  elder  amused 
himself  with  the  gambols  of  a  magnificent  grayhound, 
a  creature  of  rare  grace  and  beauty. 

"  Now,  by  Jove,  I  call  this  the  rarest  piece  of  good 
fortune,"  said  suddenly  the  gentleman  who  had  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  a  glimpse  of  Rose's  face,  "  why, 
Singleton !  this  is  the  very  young  lady  whom  I  saw 
the  other  day  with  Miss  Ball." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  Cornell  ?" 

"  But  I  do  ! — pray,  Miss — ah  !  excuse  me — I  forget 
your  name !"  speaking  in  that  exaggerated  Eng- 
lish accent  wherein  young  Cockney  militaires  are 
wont  to  exhibit  their  brainless  coxcombry,  "  may  I 
have  the  honor?"  and  bowing  with  more  real 
politeness  than  before,  he  again  offered  his  arm. 
Rose  only  answered  by  shrinking  closer  to  her  aunt, 
while  both  quickened  their  steps  in  more  trepida- 
tion than  they  wished  to  have  seen.  But  the  gen- 
tlemen saw  it  and  were  much  amused,  asking  did 
the  ladiess  uppose  they  were  going  to  run  away  with 
them. 

"  So  you  will  not  favor  me  with  your  name,  ah  ?" 
lisped  the  young  Englishman,  addressing  Rose. 

"  Sir,"  said  Miss  Ackland  stopping  short  in  her 
walk,  and  drawing  herself  up  with  that  dignity  which 
no  one  better  could  assume,  and  she  looked  the  im- 
pudent coxcomb  full  in  the  face,  "  Sir,  /  will  tell  you 
this  young  lady's  name  which  is  also  mine — it  is 
Ackland — a  name  old  and  not  unhonored  here  in 
Drogheda"     The  young  man,  as  if  by  an  involuntary 


Til  K    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  175 

impulse,  drew  back  a  pace  or  two,  and  raised  his 
aiilita.y  cap  with  the  respect  of  a  gentleman  for  a 
ady      His  companion  fol.owed  his  example. 

At  this  moment  the  elder  officer,  with  an  authori- 
tative "  Down,  Cato  !"  to  his  dog,  eagerly  approached 
Miss  Ackland,  and  stopping  in  front  of  her  said — in 
a  deep  and  as  it  seemed  an  agitated  voice— 

"  Ackland  !  Did  you  say,  madam,  that  your  name 
is  Ackland  ?,J 

"Sir,  I  did,"  the  lady  replied,  wondering  much  at 
the  stranger's  question  and  the  emotion  he  betrayed. 

"  Any  relation,  may  I  ask,  of  George  Ackland  ?" 

"  His  daughter,  sir,  his  only  daughter,  and  this 
young  lady  is  his  granddaughter,  and  my  niece." 

The  gentleman  turned  aside  for  a  moment,  pressed 
his  hand  to  his  forehead  as  though  to  still  the  throb- 
bing brain,  then  turning  to  Miss  Ackland  with  freez- 
ing politeness,  he  said — ■ 

"I  have  heard  the  name  before,  although  I  am  a 
stranger  in  Drogheda,  having  joined  my  regiment 
he. eat  Millmount  but  a  few  days  since.  Pass  on, 
madam  ! — Miss  Ackland,  did  you  say  ? " 

"  Miss  Ackland." 

"  Strange  !"  he  muttered,  again  raising  his  hand  to 
his  brow,  then  recollecting  himself  he  bowed  s: ill 
coldly,  but  yet  courteously — "  Pass  on,  ladies  !  you 
shall  recsive  no  further  annoyance  ! — young  gentle- 
men !  let  us  continue  our  walk  !" 

"  As  you  please,  Major  Melville  !"  one  of  them  r©» 
plied 


176  T11E    OLD    UOLtfi    BY     THE    BOYNE. 

"Melville!"  repeated  M.ss  Aokland  in  her  turn 
agitated  by  some  powerful  emotion. 

"Ay,  Melvile  !''  the  officer  replied,  and,  lowering 
his  voice  so  as  only  to  be  heard  by  the  person  ad' 
dressed,  he  said  in  a  whisper — "  the  brother  of  Ralph 
Melville,  whom  you  may  have  forgotten, — but  /  have 
not !"  he  sternly,  almost  fiercely  added,  then,  taking 
the  arm  of  one  of  his  companions,  he  turned  away, 
and  the  ladies  were  left  to  pursue  their  way  in  peace. 
N"or  did  they  have  any  more  boisterous  laughter  or 
ioud  talk  from  the  party  of  officers,  sobered,  it  would 
bcem,  by  the  late  rencontre,  the  two  younger  probably 
ashamed  of  their  conduct,  now  that  they  found  the 
ladies  they  had  so  annoyed  were  really  entitled  to 
their  respect.  Of  the  little  episode  between  their 
newly-arrived  major  and  the  elder  lady  they  were,  of 
course,  unaware,  so  could  form  no  surmises  on  the 
subject. 

It  was  with  no  ordinary  pleasure  that  the  ladies 
found  themselves  back  again  in  the  secure  shelter  of 
their  own  quiet  home ;  outside  the  door  they  were 
met  by  Nancy,  who  had  grown  uneasy  when  the 
night  began  to  fall,  and  they  not  yet  returned. 
Fervent,  indeed,  was  her  act  of  thanksgiving  as  she 
saw  them  through  the  dim  twilight  ascending  the 
step-!,  and  writh  all  the  alaciity  of  youth  she  hastened 
to  meet  them. 

"  Oh  !  the  Lord  be  praised,  Miss  Ackland  dear ! 
sure  it's  beginnin'  to  be  afeard  I  was  that  something 
had  happened  !" 


THE    OLD    IIOrSE    BY   TIIE    BOTNE.  177 

Rose  was  just  beginning  to  tell,  in  a  half  jesting 
way,  thai  something  had  happened,  but  her  aunt 
stopped  her  by  asking  Nancy  if  tea  were  ready, 
The  old  woman  vanished  directly. 

"  Now.  my  dear  Rose,"  s*id  Miss  Ackland,  laying 
her  hand  on  her  niece's  arm,  and  Rose  shrank  from 
its  touch,  for  it  was  icy  cold — u  now,  my  dear  Rose, 
what  have  you  to  tell  Nancy  that  is  worth  telling  ? 
Let  us  go  in ;  I  feel  weak  and  tired." 

When  they  reached  the  parlor,  where  two  candles 
were  burning  on  either  end  of  the  high,  old-fashioned 
mantel-piece,  Miss  Ackland  sank  heavily  into  a  chair, 
it  was  her  father's  "  old  arm-chair."  The  light  from 
the  mantel-piece  shed  a  ghastly  glare  on  her  features, 
and  Rose  was  shocked  to  see  them  pale  as  death. 
She  would  have  run  to  fetch  Nancy,  but  her  aunt 
gently  detained  her,  saying  that  it  was  only  a  little 
fatigued  she  was,  and  a  cup  of  tea  was  all  she  re- 
quired. 

"  I  knew  you  were  more  alarmed  than  you  allowed 
',hem  to  see,  aunt,"  said  Rose,  as  she  took  oft"  Miss 
Ackland's  bonnet  and  mantilla;  "  we  really  must  not 
put  ourselves  again  in  the  way  of  such  an  adventure.1 
u  We  shall  have  to  go  out  earlier,"  said  Miss  Ack- 
land in  a  languid  tone,  "  and  enjoy  the  twilight  at 
home,"  she  added  with  a  wan  smile. 

"  But  did  you  observe,  my  dear  aunt,  what  a  fine- 
looking  man  that  Major  Melville  is  ?  I  really  could 
not  help  admiring  him  as  he  stood  for  a  moment  near 
you." 


178  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

"Melville!"  cried  Nancy,  who  was  iust  coming  in 
with  the  tea-pot  in  one  hand,  and  a  small  plate  of 
crumpets  in  the  other.  "Who's  that  you're  talkin' 
about,  Miss  Rosey  ?" 

"  Of  a  gentleman  we  met  since  we  went  out,'  said 
Miss  Ackland,  raising  herself  in  her  chair  and  endea- 
voring to  regain  her  usual  composure.  / 

"  A  gentleman  ?  What  gentleman  ?"  persisted 
Nancy,  laying  down  her  light  burden  and  fixing  her 
eyes  on  her  mistress. 

"  An  officer,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  smiling  at  the 
simple  earnestness  of  her  old  domestic,  then  she 
added  with  a  strange  smile — "  Not  a  dead  Melville, 
Nancy,  but  a  living  one — no  ghost,  I  assure  you !"' 

The  old  woman  appeared  to  understand  the  allu- 
sion, she  muttered  something  to  hers  elf,  unintelligible 
to  others,  and  placing  the  two  lonely-looking  chairs 
at  the  table,  she  said,  "  Tea's  on  the  table,  Miss  Ack- 
land !"  then  withdrew  to  her  own  premises,  to  pon- 
der on  the  circumstance — to  her  simple  mind  extra- 
ordinary— of  the  ladies  having  "  ccme  across"  a  gen- 
tleman of  the  once-familiar  name  of  Melville,  so  long 
unnamed  under  that  roof. 

"Why,  aunt,"  said  Rose  innocently,  "the  name  of 
Melville  seems  to  be  familiar  to  Nancy.  Did  you, 
then,  ever  know  any  one  of  the  name  ?" 

"  Yes,  Rose,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  laying  down  the 
cup  of  tea  which  her  trembling  hand  refined  to  hold, 
"  I  once  had  a  friend  of  that  name — many,  many 
years  ago."     Her  soft  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  there 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         179 

was  a  depth  of  sadness  in  her  1o\y,  tremulous  voice 
that  told  of  such  sorrow  as  Rose  had  never  known. 
This  the  girl  felt,  and  she  was  silent,  revolving  in  hei 
mind  whether  the  friend  so  tenderly  remembered 
might  not  be  the  gentleman  of  whom  Nancy  had  once 
spoken  to  her. 

"  Rose,1'  said  Miss  Ackland,  "  please  to  ring  for 
Nancy.     I  see  you  have  finished  your  tea." 

The  tea-things  were  removed,  and  Miss  Ackland, 
instead  of  taking  up  a  book  01  her  knitting,  as  usual, 
threw  back  the  curtains  from  the  window,  and  stood 
looking  out  on  the  moonlit  sky  and  the  lovely  pan- 
orama of  land  and  water  that  stretched  far  and 
away  beneath  that  gorgeous  canopy.  There  was  a 
chair  in  the  deep  recess  of  the  window,  and  Miss 
Ackland  seating  herself  there  at  last,  beckoned  Rose 
to  her. 

"  Bring  that  ottoman,  Rose,  and  sit  down  here  be- 
side me."  Rose  joyfully  obeyed,  never  so  happy  as 
when  near  her  aunt.  Then  both  were  silent  for  a 
long,  long  while,  looking  dreamily  out  on  the  fair 
night,  whose  blue  depths  and  whose  silvery  light 
were  so  very  like  the  heaven  ws  dream  of  in  our 
better  moments. 

"  Yes,  Rose,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  as  if  resuming  the 
theme  of  that  brief  conversation  which,  broken  off  all 
loo  soon,  had  so  deeply  interested  Rose,  "  yes,  my 
child,  the  name  of  Melville  is  one  that  shall  live  in 
my  heart  wThile  its  pulses  beat — yet  though  sweet  aa 
music  to  my  ears,  it  is  the  most  painful  of  sounds, 


180  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TnE    BOYNE. 

awaking  the  very  bitterest  of  thoughts,  and  the  sad- 
dest  of  recollections." 

"  My  dear  aunt  !v  whispered  Rose  soothingly — she 
had  never  heard  her  speak  so  before. 

"  Rose,  you  are  all  I  have  now  left  to  comfort  me," 
resumed  Miss  Ackland — "  we  two  are  alone  in  the 
world — why,  then,  should  I  not  make  you  acquainted 
with  the  one  secret  of  my  life,  that  '  silent  sorrow' 
which  has  preyed  upon  my  heart  so  long  ?  Whilst 
my  dear  father  lived  I  had  one  who  knew  and  under- 
stood the  cause  of  my  life-long  sadness,  but  since 
he  is  gone,  I  feel  the  load  heavier  than  ever,  and  I  see 
no  reason  now  why  I  should  not  admit  you,  the  last 
of  all  my  kin,  into  the  solitude  of  my  heart.1' 

Rose  answered  only  by  a  fond  caress,  and  her 
aunt  went  on  after  a  moment's  recollection  :  "  I  was 
about  your  age,  my  dear  Rose,  when  I  first  became 
acquainted  with  Ralph  Melville,  then  some  three 
years  older;  his  family  belonged  to  the  county  Kil- 
dare,  but  he  had  embraced  a  seafaring  life  some  years 
before,  when  a  mere  boy,  at  the  request  and  under 
the  care  of  a  maternal  uncle,  who  was  captain  and 
part  owner  of  a  large  merchant  vessel  trading  chiefly 
between  the  Mediterranean  ports  and  those  of  the 
British  Islands.  The  captain  and  my  father  had  had 
much  connection  in  business — indeed,  he  was  one  of 
the  two  partners  of  Capt.  Dillon  in  the  ownership  of 
the  vessel.  They  were  old  and  fast  friends,  and  when 
Ralph  began  to  go  to  sea  with  his  uncle, — after 
spending  some  years  at  school  in  Leghorn, — he  was, 


THE  OT.I  nOUSE  EY  THE  LOYNE.         181 

of  course,  received  with  the  same  cordial  welcome 
at  our  house,  when  their  vessel  came  to  Drogheda, 
first  on  account  of  his  uncle,  but  very  soon  on  his 
own.  Years  passed  on,  and  the  handsome  youth 
became  a  man,  and  such  a  man ! — oh  !  Rose,  I  shall 
not  attempt  to  describe  him  to  you, — suffice  it  to  say 
that  it  was  not  in  his  features  or  his  form  the  charm 
lay  that  won  all  hearts.  It  was  in  the  frank  and 
jgenerous  nature,  the  delicacy  of  feeling,  and  the  na- 
tural grace  and  refinement  that  manifested  themselves 
in  every  word  and  action,  with  a  gay,  dashing,  degagi 
air  that  was  infinitely  pleasing,  and  as  far  removed 
as  could  be  from  the  self-occupation  of  vanity/' 

"  It  seems  as  though  I  could  see  him  now,"  said 
Rose  in  a  low  tone,  as  if  fearing  to  interrupt  the  nar- 
rative even  by  a  sound  ;  "Nancy  has  told  me  what  he 
looked  like." 

"  Oh  !  she  has,  has  she  ? — poor  old  Nancy  !  she 
loved  him,  too,  and  so  did  Mabel — how  could  they 
help  it,  for  he  was  kind  and  ger erous  to  all?  And 
there  was  one  who  loved  Ralph  Melville  better  than 
all,  but  I  think — I  fear  he  never  knew  it."  Rose  did 
not  ask  who  that  one  was,  she  knew  it  all  too  well. 
Miss  Ackland  paused,  as  if  to  collect  her  thoughts 
for  the  remaining  portion  of  the  narrative,  but  in 
reality  to  control  her  feelings,  so  as  to  speak  with  the 
composure  that  became  her  sober  years.  Having 
partially  succeeded,  she  continued  her  recital : 

"  I  was  young  then,  my  dear  Rose,  for  you  will  re* 
member  that  it  was   'twenty   golden   years   ago'— 


182  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

young  I  was,  and,  as  some  people  thought,  well* 
favored" — she  smiled — "  amongst  these  was  Ralph 
Melville,  who,  unhappily  for  himself,  learned  to  love 
me  as  man,  or  woman  either,  can  love  but  once. 
And  how  proud  I  was  of  his  love  I  will  not  attempt 
to  conceal  from  you.  So  he  used  to  come  the  wel- 
comesL  of  guests,  to  this  old  house  of  ours,  whenever 
his  ship  came  to  Drogheda ;  he  came,  to  one  at  least, 

1  Like  birds  ihat  bring  Summer  and  fly  when  'tis  o'er.' 
His  first  visits  were  with  his  uncle,  a  hale,  hearty 
old  gentleman,  and  a  'jolly  tar  to  boot,  manifesting 
in  his  own  proper  person  the  very  best  characteristics 
of  the  profession.  I  believe  Captain  Dillon  cherished 
the  hope  of  making  a  match,  as  he  would  call  it,  be- 
tween his  favorite  uephew  and  the  only  daughter  of 
his  old  friend,  but  I  soon  discovered  that  my  father 
had  higher  views  for  me,  and  began  to  look  coldly  on 
Ralph  Melville,  perceiving  in  what  light  he  regarded 
me.  But  one  dull  Autumn  day,  Ralph  came  alone, 
with  crape  on  his  hat,  and  sorrow  in  his  eyes  and  in 
his  heart ;  his  good  old  uncle,  his  more  than  father, 
had  died  suddenly  whilst  on  a  short  visit  at  their 
house, — which  was  really  his  home,  for  he  had  no 
other.  This  was  sad  news  for  us  ail,  for  we  loved 
the  blunt,  warm-hearted  sailor,  and  we  grieved  to 
think  that  we  should  see  his  honest  face  no  more. 
Alas  !  for  '  the  old  familiar  faces' — how  they  vanish 
one  by  one  from  our  life's  darkening  path  ever  as  we 
journey  onward  !  The  old  man  had  fortunately  left 
a  will,  and  his  share  of  the  Frances  Anne  (the  ship 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  183 

was  named  after  Mrs.  Melville,  Ralph's  mother)  was 
left  to  Ralph,  with  a  recommendation  to  the  other 
partners  to  give  him  the  command;  the  few  thou 
sand  pounds  the  captain  had  had  in  the  Bank  of  Ire- 
land was  the  only  provision  now  remaining  for  his 
widowed  sister  and  two  younger  children,  a  youth 
of  nineteen  and  a  girl  of  sixteen. 

"  Some  three  months  had  passed  before  Ra'ph  Mel- 
ville came  again  to  Drogheda;  he  appeared  in  some- 
what better  spirits,  and  when  I  made  the  remark  to 
him,  he  said  it  was  so,  and  asked  me  to  guess  why. 
I  told  him  I  was  not  good  at  guessing,  my  cheek 
burning  all  the  while  with  the  consciousness  of  what 
was  coming.  '  I  have  obtained  my  mother's  consent,1 
said  he,  ' to  woo  and  win  a  wife — that  is  if  I  can.' 
1  Indeed  ?'  I  replied — with  an  air  which  he  mistook  for 
cold  indifference,  but  which  was  really  meant  to  hide 
the  joy  that  filled  my  soul.  'Indeed!'  repeated 
Ralph,  looking  in  my  face  with  so  keen  a  scrutiny 
that  I  shrank  from  his  glance  as  though  I  had,  indeed, 
something  to  conceal.  Poor  Ralph  !  I  can  see  it  yet, 
the  shadow  thai  fell  on  the  brightness  of  his  lace, 
and  till  the  day  I  die  I  can  never  forget  the  altered 
tone  in  which  he  spoke  again.  'Excuse  me,  Miss 
Ackland  !'  he  said,  (it  was  the  first  time  in  two  year3 
he  had  called  me  so,)  '  I  had  flattered  myself  that  you 
were  a  party  interested.  I  see  I  was  mistaken,  and 
have  only  to  crave  your  pardon  for  the  unwarranta« 
hie  liberty  I  took  in  supposing  that  the  heiress  of  Mr. 
Ackland's  fortune  could  be  interested  in  the  affairs  of 


184  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    B0YNE. 

one  so  humble  .as  myself.'  I  know  not  what  evil 
spirit  it  was  that  prompted  me  to  leave  him  in  the 
strange  blindness  that  had  come  upon  him,  but  I  did 
so  to  my  life-long  regret.  I  replied  with  real  cold- 
ness, piqued  that  he  should  not  have  seen  and  known 
my  real  feelings  :  '  Really,  Captain  Melville,  you 
talk  in  riddles,  and  I  am  so  dull  in  comprehension 
that  I  do  not  understand  you.' — '  Then  you  never 
Bhall  understand  me  now,'  he  said  in  a  quick,  decided 
tone.  '  /,  at  least,  understand  it  all.  I  refused  to  be- 
lieve what  I  had  heard  when  last  in  Drogheda,  that 
your  father  had  negociations  on  foot  for  your  mar- 
riage with  a  certain  gentleman,  the  owner  of  an 
estate  somewhere  in  the  county  Meath — now  I  be- 
lieve it  when  too  late  to  recall  my  own  folly  !*'  How 
I  longed  to  tell  him  that  such  a  union  had  been  pro- 
posed to  me  with  my  father's  fullest  approbation,  but 
that  I  had  refused  and  for  his  sake  as  much  as  my 
own  !  But  I  would  not  so  far  humble  my  foolish 
pride,  and  merely  saying — '  You  are,  of  course,  at 
liberty  to  believe  what  you  please,  Captain  Melville  !' 
I  left  him." 

"  You  left  him  !"  cried  Rose ;  "  oh  !  aunt,  how  could 
you  act  so  ?" 

"  You  may  well  a?k  that,  my  dearest  Rose  ! — it  is 
the  question  that  echoes  in  my  heart  all  these  long 
and  weary  years  since  then." 

"  But  what  did  Captain  Melville  do  then,  Aunt  Ly« 
dia? — Did  he  go  away  for  good  ?" 

"  For  good  !"  Miss  Ackland  repeated  with  sorrow- 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         185 

fu]  emphasis,  and  she  raised  her  tearful  eyes  to  hea« 
ven.  After  a  moment's  pause  she  continued  :  i:  In  a 
sort  of  dogged  resolution,  I  suppose,  to  know  exactly 
how  the  matter  stood,  and,  perhaps,  with  a  view  to 
justify  to  himself  the  final  farewell  he  meant  to  take 
of  us,  it  seems  Ralph  went  straight  to  my  father  and 
asked  whether  he  had  any  objection  to  him  as  a  suitor 
for  his  daughter.  My  father  told  him  in  a  hesitating 
sort  of  way  that  he  thought  his  circumstances  were 
not  such  as  to  make  the  match  an  eligible  one  for  me 
with  my  expectations.  '  Precisely  so,  sir,'  was  Ralph 
Melville's  answer,  '  I  am  sorry  I  troubled  you  on  the 
subject ;  however,  it  is  well  to  know  exactly  where 
one  stands.  Will  you  say  good-bye  for  me  to  Miss 
Ackland  in  case  I  should  not  see  her  again  before 
leaving  Drogheda  ?'  And  he  shook  my  father  by  the 
hand,  and  wishing  him  '  good  morning,1  went  away 
before  he  could  make  up  his  mind  what  further  to 
say.     Rose,  we  never  again  saw  Ralph  Melville." 

'l  Why,  how  was  that,  Aunt  Lydia  ?" 

"  He  sailed  for  Civita  Vecchia  that  same  afternoon, 
two  days  earlier  than  he  had  intended,  but  he  never 
reached  the  Italian  coast ;  the  equinoctial  gales  set 
in  that  very  night  with  unusual  violence,  and  in  the 
fierce  storm  that  raged  during  the  hours  of  darkness, 
bis  ship  perished,  with  all  on  board.  Oh,  that  I  should 
live  to  tell  it!" 

"Perished!"  cried  Rose  in  horror;  uoh  aunt! 
aunt !" 

Miss  Ackland  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and 


180  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

wept  lc  g  hi  silence,  unbroken  by  Rose,  whose  leiidei 
heart  wis  too  deeply  touched  for  verbal  expression. 

"I  r»an  weep  now,"  said  Miss  Ackland  at  length, 
as  she  wiped  away  her  tears,  "  I  can  weep  now, 
but  I  cculd  not  weep  then;  no,  not  for  weeks  and 
weeks,  although  my  heart  was  breaking  with  the 
double  weight  of  sorrow  and  of  self-reproach;  by 
night  and  by  day  I  grieved  for  the  words  that  I 
might  have  said,  and  did  not  say — the  words  of  ex- 
planation that  would  have  made  Ralph  happy,  and 
kept  him  near  me,  instead  of  sending  him  to  his  death 
by  my  foolish  pride  and  petulance  !  Oh  !  how  s  ivere 
has  been  my  punishment ." 

"  My  dear  aunt !"  said  Rose  very  gently,  "  you 
surely  accuse  yourself  too  harshly;  as  you  never  saw 
Captain  Melville  after  that,  how  could  you  be  certain 
that  you  were  the  cause  of  his  leaving  on  that  day  ?" 

"  Ah !  Rose,  he  took  care  to  make  me  certain ;  Nancy 
had  been  into  town  that  day  on  business  for  me,  and 
coming  back,  by  the  lower  road,  she  found  Captain 
Melville  walking  hastily  to  and  fro  outside  the  gate, — 
seeing  her,  he  gave  her  a  note  for  me,  and  to  her 
great  astonishment,  bade  her  good-bye,  saying  as  he 
shook  hands  with  her — '  I  am  going  now,  Nancy, 
never  to  come  back  again — not  with  my  own  will, 
be  assured,  for  my  heart  is  here.'  He  was  gone  be- 
fore Nancy  could  get  over  her  bewilderment  suffi- 
ciently to  ask  what  he  meant.  The  note  contained 
but  these  words — Lydia,  farewell  I — It  is  hard  la 
forgive  you,  but  Id" — be  happy,  if  you  can,  and  forget 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOINE.  187 

Rtrffh  Mchille.'1  My  father  read  that  fatal  note,  for 
when  he  came  home  it  lay  open  on  the  table,  beside 
which  I  sat  in  a  sort  of  stupor ;  he  read  it  and  read 
my  heart,  and  ever  after  understood  the  bitterness  of 
self-reproach  that  mingled  with  my  grief,  and  Nancy, 
too,  rightly  interpreting  Captain  Melville's  parting 
words,  but  supposing  from  them  that  I  had  refused 
him,  was  long  before  she  forgave  me,  indeed,  I  know 
not  if  she  has  yet,  or  ever  will.  She  thought  I  was 
more  in  fault  than  I  actually  was,  and  she  blamed  me 
all  the  more  because  I  did  not  choose  to  let  her  see 
the  deep  wound  festering  in  my  heart." 

"  My  poor  dear  aunt !"  whispered  Rose,  "  who 
could  have  dreamed  of  all  this?" 

"It  was  known  only  to  my  poor  father,"  said  Miss 
Ackland,  in  a  voice  of  strong  emotion ;  "  that  is,  the 
real  state  cf  the  case,  and  since  he  died  I  have  borne 
my  load  of  vain  regret  alone — all  alone — as  far  as  my 
fellow-mortals  are  concerned.  This  evening  some- 
thing occurred  that  has  torn  open  again  the  wounds 
half-healed  by  time." 

Rose  started.  "  How  ?  is  it  anything  connected 
with  those  officers  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Rose,  you  will  not  wonder  at  my 
agitaiion  when  I  tell  you  that  in  the  eldest  of  the 
three  I  discovered  Guy  Melville,  the  only  brother  of 
my  lost  Ralph !" 

"  You  did  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  did,  and  he  contrived  to  make  me  sensi* 
ble  that  he,  too,  blames  me  as  the  indirect  cause  o/ 


188  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

his  brother's  untimely  death ! — strange  that  he  should 
know  what  oecurred  on  that  last  sad  day,  but  he  evi- 
dently does,  all  too  well.  Oh  Rose !  Rose !  I  am 
miserably  punished  for  a  fault  that  of  itself  was  on]y 
trivial,  and  certainly  unintentional!  To  think  how  / 
loved  Ralph  Melville — the  long  years  I  have  mourned 
bim,  and  the  gloom  that  settled  down  on  my  path  of 
life  when  I  lost  him,  and  to  know  that  his  nearest  and 
dearest  do  me  such  cruel  injustice  !  This  is  hard — 
hard — and  it  is  only  from  above  I  ask  and  obtain 
strength  to  bear  it.  Rose,  my  dear  child,  it  is  selfish 
of  me  to  make  you  acquainted  with  my  life's  great 
6orrow.  But  the  heart  will  pine  for  human  sympa- 
thy, and  it  lightens  the  burden  of  grief  to  know  that 
we  possess  it." 

The  fond  embrace  with  which  Rose  answered,  and 
the  tears  that  filled  her  eyes,  gave  assurance  to  her 
aunt  that  there  was  still  one  heart  she  could  call  her 
own,  and  whose  sympathies  were  all  bound  up  with 
hers.  There  was  comfort  in  the  thought,  and  she 
marvelled  much  during  the  wakeful  hours  of  that 
night  how  much  feeling  lay  concealed  under  the 
youthful  buoyancy  of  her  niece's  outward  bearing. 

The  truth  was  that  the  revelations  of  that  night 
wrought  a  change  in  Rose's  interior  that  was  very 
perceptible  to  herself,  if  not  to  others.  She  felt  as 
though  years  had  passed  over  her  head,  and  left  their 
Feared  impress  on  her  heart  during  that  one  still 
moonlight  hour  when  she  listened  to  her  aunt's 
simple  tale  of  sorrow,  and  learned^  for  the  first  tim(> 


THE    OLD    IIOESE    BY    THE    BO\NE.  189 

the  strange  power  that  one  heart  may  exercise  over 
another,  and  the  deeper  depths  that  may  lie  hidden 
from  mortal  eye  beneath  the  outward  seeming  of 
ordinary  life.  A  veil  seemed  suddenly  to  have  been 
lifted  from  before  her  eyes,  and  the  world  appeared 
to  her  under  a  new  aspect.  Or  rather,  her  aunt's 
story  was  to  Kose  Ackland's  perceptions,  like  the 
ointment  in  the  fairy  tale  which,  rubbed  on  mortal 
eyes,  opens  them  to  the  sights  and  seeings  of  another 
sphere  of  existence.  Thoughts  and  feelings  unknown 
before  all  at  once  started  into  life,  seeming  now  as 
old  companions,  and  Rose  felt  all  the  happier  for  the 
change  that  had  taken  place  within  her,  and  the  new 
range  of  vision  opened  before  her.  Yet  outwardly 
she  was  still  the  same,  perhaps  a  shade  moie  thought- 
ful and  subdued,  but  still  habitually  the  gay,  laughing 
girl  who  made  sunshine  all  around  her  in  her  little 
sphere  of  life.  But  it  was  very  touching  to  see  the 
new  relation  in  which  the  aunt  and  niece  stood  to 
each  other;  a  tie,  far  stronger  than  that  of  blood,  had 
suddenly  bound  their  hearts  together,  and  in  the 
gentle  sympathy  of  Kose,  so  sweetly  and  tenderly 
manifested,  her  aunt  found  a  solace  for  her  woes, 
such  as  she  had  never  dreamed  of  obtaining.  Her 
past  being  now  all  known  to  her  niece,  she  could 
talk  to  her  at  times  of  her  loved  and  early  lost,  and 
it  seemed  as  though  her  heart  were  lightened  of  its 
heaviest  burden  by  the  privilege  of  weaving  over 
with  Rose  the  web  of  her  life,  the  joys  and  griefs, 
the  pleasures  and  the  pains  of  those  by-gone  years  of 


190  THE    OLD    liOUSK    BY    THE    BOYXE. 

whose  flight  no  record  now  remained  save  in  her  own 
heart. 

It  was  long  a  source  of  trouble  and  apprehension 
to  Miss  Ackland  that  the  brother  of  Ralph  Melville 
should  be  in  Drogheda  and  might  at  any  moment 
cross  her  path  :  gain,  with  his  stern  look,  and  settled 
dislike,  and  his  voice  so  like  one  never-to-be-forgotten, 
yet  so  full  of  anger  and  contempt.  But  weeks  past 
away,  and  no  Major  Melville  was  seen,  and  her  fears 
gradually  subsided.  The  stream  of  her  life  flowed  on 
as  befoie  in  its  calm  monotony, — for  how  long,  who 
oould  tell  ? 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Two  weeks  had  passed  after  the  conversation  of 
that  memorable  evening,  without  any  further  inter- 
ruption to  the  placid  tranquillity  which  marked  the 
daily  life  of  the  aunt  and  niece.  At  the  end  of  that 
time,  they  walked  down  to  Baltray  one  lovely  after- 
noon,  immediately  after  school  was  dismissed,  to  see 
old  Mabel,  who  was  now  too  feeble  to  leave  the  cot- 
tage, and  spent  the  time  she  was  not  in  bed,  sitting 
at  the  door  in  the  sunshine,  talking  drearily  to  her- 
self, or  watching  her  grandchildren,  as  they  rolled  and 
tumbled  in  the  sand  hard  by. 

«  I  thought  yoad  come  the  day,  Miss  Liddy,"  was 
her  reply  to  Miss  Ackland's  kindly  greeting;  "some- 
thin'  was  tellhV  me  ever  since  mornin'  that  I'd  see 
you  before  night.  An'  Miss  Rose,  too— sure,  but  it 
does  me  good  to  see  you  both,  an'  it's  thankful  I  am 
that  I  can  see  you,  for  the  sight  is  goiif  fast  from  me.'1 

';  Mabel  '."  said  Miss  Ackland,  sitting  down  beside 
her  on  the  rough  wooden  bench,  "  who  do  you  think 
I  met  siate  I  saw  you  last?" 

,  "  Who  :"  asked  the  old  woman  curtly  but  anxiously, 
turning  towards  the  lady  whom  she  still  regarded  as 
her  mistress. 


192  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    B0YNE. 

"  vVhy,  Mr.  Guy  Melville,"  and  she  lowered  bet 
voice. 

"  Guy  Melville ! '  repeated  the  old  woman  with 
suddenly  awakened  interest.  'l  Why,  that  should  be 
his  brother — it  was  Guy  he  used  to  call  him.  An' 
where  did  you  meet  him,  Miss  Liddy,  asthore  ?  ' 

"  On  the  Rathmullen  road  when  Miss  Rose  and  I 
were  taking  our  evening  walk,  about  two  weeks  ago. 
It  appears  Mr.  Melville  is  an  officer  in  the  army,  and 
belongs  to  the  88th,  now  stationed  at  Millmount." 

"  Well !  an'  what  did  he  say  ?  Did  he  know  yon, 
Miss  Liddy,  dear  ?" 

"  Yes — but  not  till  I  had  told  him  who  I  was. 
There  did  not  much  pass  between  us  then,  and  I 
have  not  seen  him  since." 

"  But  /  have  seen  him,  aunt,"  said  Rose,  who  ha>  1 
been  standing  an  apparently  unconcerned  listenei, 
watching  the  fleecy  white  clouds  that  were  sailing 
slowly  over  the  face  of  the  western  sky,  their  upper 
edges  tipped  with  the  gold  of  the  still  gorgeous  sun- 
shine. "  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  I  harl  seen  Major 
Melville  once  or  twice, — but  not  to  speak  to  him.  It 
was  only  yesterday  that  I  met  him  and  one  of  those 
officers  who  were  with  him  that  evening,  as  I  came 
along  Palace  street  from  Geormna  Neville's." 

It  did  not  escape  Miss  Ackland's  watchful  eyes 
that  Rose  said  this  with  a  somewhat  heightened 
color,  but  that  was  not  the  place  or  the  time  to  make 
any  sort  of  comment,  so  she  merely  said,  "  Oh  in 
deed  ?"  and  turned  again  to  old  Mabel. 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  193 

"  You  see  I  speak  now  of — of  Capt.  Melville" — she 
added,  getting  rapidly  over  the  name — "  even  before 
Miss  Rose.     I  have  told  her  all,  Mabel." 

"An'  I'm  glad  you  did,"  said  the  crone,  with  an 
oracular  nod,  "it's  what  you  should  have  done  many's 
the  day  ago.  It  '11  do  you  good,  asthore,  to  open 
your  mind  to  somebody,  an'  now  that  the  ould  mas- 
ter is  gone — the  heavens  be  his  bed  ! — I  b'lieve  there 
was  nobody  livin' — hereabouts,  anyway, — that  knew 
anything  about  what's  come  an'  gone,  in  regard  to 
the  Captain  that  was,  barrin'  myst4f  an'  Nancy. 
An'  sure,  in  the  coorse  of  nature,  neither  of  us  'ill  be 
long  in  it.  Then  you'd  have  no  one  at  all  to  spake  a 
word  to  about  what's  ever  more  in  your  mind." 

"Very  true,  Mabel,  and  that  is  just  the  reason  wfjy 
I  told  my  niece  the  sad  story." 

"Ah  !  Miss  Liddy  dear  !"  said  the  old  woman  n'/,er 
a  long  pause,  "  I  think  I  could  die  happy  if  I  c^uld 
once  see  you  in  the  way  of  bein'  happy.  But,  ocfcone  ! 
sure  there's  little  chance  o'  that,  in  this  world,  any- 
how !" 

"  Little  chance,  indeed,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  rising, 
"  unless  either  the  dead  could  come  back  to  life,  or 
somebody  convince  me  that  the  past  was  all  a  dream. 
But  still,  Mabel,  we  must  work  our  passage  through 
in  the  best  way  we  can,  and  take  things  2.8  they 
come.  Happiness  is  not  for  this  world,  you  know  ! 
We  shall  all  meet,  I  hope,  where  happiness  is,  and  is 
eternal.  Good-bye,  Mabel !  be  sure  and  send  uiq 
word  if  you  want  anything." 


194         THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOVNB. 

"  I  will,  asthore!  I  will,  for  I  know  it  'id  fret  you  to 
think  that,  poor  Mabel  did  want  for  anything.  Well ! 
all  I  can  do  is  to  pray  for  you  an'  Miss  Rose,  an'  that 
I  do  from  my  heart  out,  night  an'  mornin',  on  my 
bended  knees;  an'  when  the  world's  sieepin',  air  onty 
the  dead  to  the  fore,  I  pray  for  you,  too,  an'  some- 
times I  think  the  dead  answers  me,  an'  there  comes 
like  a  whisper  in  my  ear  that  there's  bright  days  be 
fore  you  still!     Go  now,  an'  God  be  with  you!" 

Going  out  from  the  cottage,  the  ladies  stopped  a 
moment  to  speak  to  the  children,  when  as  they 
turned  to  regain  the  high  road  through  the  village, 
they  were  startled  to  see  on  the  smooth  white  sand 
the  name  Giacomo  plainly  written  in  large  fair  cha- 
racters. 

"  What  can  it  mean?'  said  Miss  Ackland  to  her 
niece  who  stood  gazing  on  the  name  with  a  wild, 
startled  look,  her  color  changing  like  the  April  sky. 

"  It  is  hard  to  say,''  Rose  replied,  "  he  cannot  have 
been  here,  yet  who  could  have  written  his  name  in 
such  a  place  ?" 

A  thought  struck  Miss  Ackland;  she  once  more 
approached  the  children  and  asked  them  who  wrote 
that,  pointing  to  the  name  on  the  sand. 

"  That !"  replied  the  eldest,  "  oh  !  the  gentleman 
made  that  there  n  while  ago  when  you  were  in  with 
granny." 

"  What  gentleman  ?     Did  you  know  him  ?" 

No,  none  of  the  children  knew  him,  so  the  ladies 
were  forced  to  return  home  in  the  anxious  suspense 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    EY    THE    BOTNE,  195 

arising  from  this  singular  incident.  They  half  ex< 
pected  on  reaching  home  to  find  the  young  Leghorn  er 
there  before  them,  but  in  answer  to  their  eagci 
inquiry,  whether  any  one  had  been  there  since  they 
left,  Nancy  replied  in  her  matter-of-fact  way — "  Oh 
the  sorra  one,  then,  barrin'  Catty  Nugent  that 
called  to  see  if  we  wanted  any  fish  for  the  morrow. 
She  says  she  has  the  best  of  haddock,  an'  some  rale 
good  pike,  if  we'd  be  for  havin'  any.  An'  she'll  have 
sole  an'  fresh  herrin's  the  morrow  mornin',  she  expects, 
for  her  man  is  out  all  day." 

"  Oh  !  dear  me,  Nancy,"  cried  Rose  with  an  impa- 
tient gesture,  "do  let  us  alone  about  Catty  Nugent's 
fish.     We  don't  care  if  she  never  had  any." 

"  Why,  then,  Miss  Rose,"  said  Nancy  with  an  air 
of  orTriided  dignity,  "  it's  ne  wens -for  you  not.  to  care 
about  your  Friday's  dinner.  There's  nobody  in  the 
house  so  hard  to  plase,  I'm  sure,  any  day  in  the 
week,  in  regard  to  what's  put  before  you.  But  all's 
one  to  me.  It's  little  fish  sarves  my  turn,  or  mate, 
aither,  for  the  matter  of  that."  And  she  betook  her- 
self to  her  own  quarter  of  the  house,  closing  the 
kitchen  door  after  her  with  no  gentle  motion. 

"You  must  go,  by  and  by,  and  pacify  poor  Nancy,'' 
said  Miss  Ackland,  ever  alive  to  the  feelings  of  others, 

"Oh!  that  is  easily  done,  Aunt  Lydia!— but  you 
eee  Giacomo  has  not  come.     How  very  strange !" 

"  He  may  have  arrived,"  said  her  aunt  thoughtfully 
"  although  he  has  not  been  here  yet.  We  may  pro- 
bably see  him  before  long.     Yet  even  if  he  had  come, 


196  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TnE    BOYNE. 

I  wonder  what  could  have  taken  him  to  Baltray,  or 
why  he  should  go  write  his  name  in  the  sand  near 
Mabel's  door  !" 

"  That  is  just  what  puzzles  me,  aunt !" 

"Well!  in  any  case,  it  is  useless  tc  waste  time  in 
idle  speculations  on  the  subject.  I  declare  it  is 
almost  tea-time.  I  will  go  myself  to  the  kitchen,  and 
I  shall  tell  Nancy  at  the  same  time  what  we  saw  at 
Baltray,  in  order  to  excuse  your  impatience." 

A  day  or  two  after,  who  should  drop  in  for  an 
afternoon  call  but  the  two  Miss  Brodigans.  After 
some  desultory  conversation,  Miss  Jane  said  in  her 
languid  way — 

"  So  your  Italian  friend  is  come  back.  Of  course 
you  have  seen  him  ?" 

"Why  no,"  Miss  Ackland  replied,  "we  have  not 
seen  him." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ?"  asked  Rose  in  a  careless 
tone. 

"  Well !  no,  but  a  friend  of  ours  did  !" 

"And  where,  pray  !"  said  Rose  in  the  same  tone. 

■'■  In  Lawrence  street,  not  so  far  from  here,"  said 
Miss  Brodigan ;  "  it  is  strange  he  did  not  call  on  you 
immediately.  It  was  the  evening  before  last,  I  think, 
that  Tiernan  saw  him." 

"  Or  thought  he  saw  him,"  said  Rose  with  a  smile 
©f  incredulity.  Yet  she  and  her  aunt  exchanged 
meaning  glances,  for  that  was  the  evening  of  the  day 
on  which  they  had  been  to  Baltray. 

"I  see  you  are  incredulous,  Rose,"  said  Anne  Brodi 


THE    OLD    HOrSE    BY    THE    BOT NE.  197 

gan,  a  little  annoyed  by  her  tone  and  manner ;  "  of 
course,  you  think,  and  you  ought  to  know  best,  that 
the  young  gentleman  could  not  possibly  be  an  hour, 
much  less  a  day,  in  Drogheda  without  your  seeing 
him." 

"Without  my  seeing  him?''  said  Rose  haughtily; 
"  you  are  much  mistaken,  Miss  Brodigan,  if  you  sup- 
pose I  have  any  special  claims  on  Signer  Giaccmo's 
attention  My  aunt  may  have,  for  sin  was  very  kind 
to  him  during  his  illness,  but  as  for  me,  he  owes  me 
nothing,  and  I  expect  nothing  from  him." 

"  Oh  !  of  course  not.  now,"  lisped  languid  Miss  Jane. 

"No,  nor  then"  replied  Rose  with  increasing  vehe- 
mence; she  was  really  annoyed  at  their  meddling  in- 
sinuations. 

"Not  since  the  military  came  into  favor,  at  all 
events,"  said  Miss  Brodigan,  with  a  meaning  smile  as 
she  and  her  sister  rose  to  take  their  departure. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Anne  Brcdigr.n?1 
said  Rose,  with  a  sudden  change  of  voice  and  man- 
ner, and  her  aunt  was  pained  to  sec  that  her  face  was 
all  in  a  glow. 

"Oh!  nothing  at  all,"  was  the  reply,  "only  you 
know,  Rose,  the  scarlet  fever  is  prevalent  here  just 
now,  and  I  really  did  not  know  whether  you  had  es- 
caped it  or  not.  Good-bye,  Miss  Ackland  !  Good- 
bye, Rosey  !  I  forgot  to  say  that  mamma  sends  her 
kind  love  to  you  both,  fair  ladies  of  the  hill !  Good- 
bye !"  Miss  Jane  nodded  and  smiled,  hands  were 
mutually  shaken,  and  the  visitors  retired.     There  was 


198  THE    OLD    IIOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

A  short  silence  after  they  left,  then  Miss  Ackland  said 
Bomewhat  abstractedly — 

"  I  begin  to  think  that  Glacomo  may  be  here,  or 
has  been  here.  But  if  so,  it  is  passinj  strange  that 
we  have  not  seen  him." 

"  So  strange,  indeed,"  said  Rose,  "  that  I  cannot 
believe  it." 

"  The  evening  is  fine,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  an  hour 
or  two  later,  when  the  sun  was  sinking  in  the  west, 
"  let  us  walk  a  while  in  the  garden,"  and  she  drew 
her  niece's  arm  within  her  own.  After  taking  a  few 
turns  round  the  garden,  which  was  not  very  large, 
and  for  the  most  part  exhibiting  the  useful  rather 
than  the  ornamental  in  its  botanic  arrangement,  they 
stopped  to  catch  the  last  faint  glow  of  sunset  flushing 
the  distant  sea  with  crimson,  and  Miss  Ackland  said — 

"  Rose,  I  have  a  question  to  ask  you." 

"  Indeed,  Aunt  Lydia  ? — and  pray  what  is  it  ?"  said 
Rose  in  a  hesitating  sort  of  way. 

"  What  did  Anne  Brodigan  mean  about  the  mili- 
tary, and  the  scarld  fever.  She  spoke  with  a  pointed- 
ness  which  you  seemed  to  understand." 

Rose  laughed,  but  her  laugh  was  not  the  same  free, 
joyous  one  that  her  aunt  was  accustomed  to  hear. 
u  Why,  my  dear  Aunt  Lydia,  what  importance  can 
you  possibly  attach  to  Anne's  silly  badinage  ?  You 
ought  to  know  her  by  this  time  ?" 

There  was  a  slight  rustling  amongst  the  bushes 
near  by,  that  made  both  ladies  start  and  turn  quickly 
in  the  direction  of  the  sound.     No  living  thins:  was 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYXE.  109 

to  be  seen,  however,  except  a  linnet  that  sat  on  the 
to*  most  bough  of  an  apple-tree  warbling  its  vesper 

BOPg. 

"  Yet,  Rose,  I  fancied  there  was  a  consciousness  in 
your  look  and  manner,  while  she  spoke,  that  somehow 
reminded  me  of  what  you  said  yourself  in  Mabel's 
cottage  the  other  day." 

"What  was  that,  Aunt  Lydia?" 

"  That  you  had  met  Major  Melville  more  than  once, 
and  with  him  some  of  his  brother  officers.  Why  did 
you  not  tell  me  that  before  ?"' 

"Well !  I  told  you  then,  my  dear  aunt,  and  I'll  tell 
about  it  now,  although  it  is  scarcely  worth  the  telling." 
Was  it  the  linnet  that  shook  the  branches,  and  crush- 
ed the  dry  leaves  on  the  ground  as  though  human 
foot  were  there  ? 

"  The  truth  is,  aunt,"  resumed  Rose  with  a  cheer- 
fulness that  reassured  Miss  Ackland,  "  I  have  been  a 
little  annoyed  by  some  of  those  same  military  gentle- 
men, especially  that  Lieutenant  Cornell,  since  wo 
were  so  unlucky  as  to  meet  them  tliat  evening.  They 
will  salute  me  when  we  meet,  on  the  street,  and  that 
is  oftener  than  I  could  wish,  and  as  for  Cornell  he  has 
once  or  twice  addressed  me  with  the  familiarity  of  an 
old  acquaintance." 

"  But  you  have  not  answered  him,  have  you  ?  or 
recognized  any  of  the  others  ?" 

"Certainly  not,  Aunt  Lydia!  I  should  do  little 
credit  to  your  teaching  were  I  capable  of  exchanging 
salutes  with  gentlemen  who  have  never  been  intro- 


200  THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  hie   boyne. 

duced  to  me,  and  whom  I  only  know  as  inrrndent 
and  intrusive." 

"There  spoke  my  own  Rose,"  said  the  aunt  with 
proud  affection;  "  shall  I  confess  that  you  have  taken 
a  load  off  my  heart  ?" 

"Why,  surely,  you  did  not  suspect  me  of  encourag- 
ing any  advances  from  these  gentlemen,  or  noticing 
them  in  any  way  ?" 

"  No  matter  what  I  suspected,  Rose,  I  find  you  are 
a  true  Ackland,  and  know  how  to  keep  such  people 
at  a  proper  distance.  But  tell  me,  Rose,  did  Major 
Melville  act  in  the  same  way  as  the  others  ?" 

"  Not  he,  indeed,  aunt ! — he  never  pretended  to  re- 
cognize me,  although  I  could  not  help  seeing  that  he 
knew  me  again  at  the  first  glance." 

"That  is  just  what  I  would  expect,"  said  Miss  Ack- 
land in  a  low,  tremulous  tone ;  "  to  be  a  Melville  he 
must  be  the  soul  of  honor,  and  a  gentleman  in  the 
truest  sense.  Let  us  go  in,  my  dear,  the  night-dews 
are  beginning  to  fall." 

They  were  turning  to  go  into  the  house  by  the 
front  door,  when  a  figure  presented  itself  to  their 
view  at  the  corner  of  the  esplanade  from  behind  the 
drooping  branches  of  a  laburnum-tree.  Rose  clung 
closer  to  her  aunt's  arm,  with  difficulty  suppressing  a 
scream,  and  Miss  Ackland  herself  was  somewhat 
alarmed.  But  alarm  soon  gave  place  to  joy  when  a 
well-known  voice  said — 

"You  do  not  know  me,  then? — have  you  already 
forgotten  Giacomo  ?" 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    EY    THE    BOTXB.  201 

•'  Giacomo  !     Can  it  be  possible  ?" 

It  was,  indeed,  Giacomo,  his  very  self;  there  was 
no  mistaking  the  friendly  grasp  of  his  hand,  the  heart- 
warm  tones  of  his  voice,  unheard  for  long, — and  truly 
he  had  no  reason  to  complain  of  his  reception.  Miss 
Ackiand  was  rejoiced  to  see  him,  and  frankly  said 
so,  and  even  Rose  manifested  more  pleasure  than 
could  have  been  expected  from  her  former  demeanor 
towards  him.  At  first  no  questions  were  asked,  and 
they  all  three  entered  the  house.  Nancy  was  rather 
surprised  on  S3eing  what  she  took  for  a  strange  gen- 
tleman with  the  ladies,  but,  on  recognizing  her  young 
favorite,  the  good  old  soul  could  scarcely  find  words 
to  express  her  joy. 

Tea  was  long  over,  and  Giacomo  had  had  his,  he 
said,  but  it  was  hard  to  persuade  Nancy  from  going 
to  work  to  get  tea  for  him,  "An'  sure  a  cup  of  tay 
would  do  him  good,  an1  he  must  take  something,  after 
bein'  so  long  away  from  them." 

At  last  the  faithful  creature  was  got  rid  of,  the  can- 
dles were  lit,  and  Giacomo  ran  his  eye  over  the  well- 
remembered  room,  as  if  to  see  that  all  was  the  same 
there  as  when  he  left  it ;  but  all  was  not  the  same,  and 
the  young  man's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  they  rested 
on  the  oM  arm-chair  still  in  its  olden  place,  but  vacant 
now.  The  ladies  saw  his  emotion,  and  well  under- 
stood its  cause,  but  they  were  silent. 

"  How  much  you  must  miss  him !"  said  Giacomo 
after  a  long  pause. 

"  Yes,  we  miss  him,  indeed  !"  Rose  replied, — hei 


202  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    COYNE. 

aunt  could  not  trust  her  voice  to  speak,  "  every  day, 
and  every  hour  we  miss  him,  and  shall,  I  think,  for 
years  to  come." 

After  another  pause,  M;ss  Ackland  said — "  By-the- 
lye,  Giacomo,  when  did  you  arrive  ?•' 

There  was  a  slight  confusion  visible  in  the  young 
mai's  manner  as  he  replied — "  Three  clays  ago." 

"  Three  days  !"  said  Miss  Ackland  reproachfully, 
"three  days  in  Drogheda  without  coming  to  see  us  ?" 

"  I  came  on  business,  and  have  been  much  occu- 
pied.1' 

"  Yet,"  cried  Rose  with  the  arch  smile  of  other 
days,  "  you  found  tima  to  go  to  Bahray  !" 

"  Oh  !  that  is  true,"  said  Miss  Ackland  ;  "  we  saw 
your  name  in  the  sand  near  Mabel's  cottage,  and  have 
been  ever  since  puzzling  our  wits  imagining  how  it 
came  there." 

"  You  natter  me,  Miss  Ackland,"  he  replied  laugh- 
ing, "  I  could  not  have  hoped  that  the  sight  of  my 
name  should  have  attracted  so  much  of  your  atten- 
tion." 

"  Not  of  mine,"  said  Rose,  saucy  as  ever,  "  not  of 
mine,  I  assure  you.  I  for  one  take  little  heed  of 
words  written  in  the  sand.  But  my  aunt  thought  it 
strange  to  get  the  first  token  of  your  arrival  on  the 
beach  at  Baltray.  A  new  way  of  leaving  one's  card, 
that !" 

"  But  who  told  you  I  was  there  at  all  ?" 

« Why,  Mabel's  grandchildren  told  us — that  ia 
they  told  Aunt  Lydia  that  'a  gentleman1  wrote  that, 


TIIF    OLD    HOUSE    B\    THE    BOYXE.  203 

and  it  was  very  natural  to  conclude  that  no  gentleman 
was  so  likely  to  write  your  name  as  yourself.  Then 
Miss  Brodigan  told  us  you  were  in  town,  for  that  a 
friend  of  theirs  had  seen  you." 

"And  did  you  believe  her  on  her  friend's  word  ?" 

"  No,  that  she  did  not,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  am 
ewering  for  her  niece  ;  "  she  gave  Miss  Brodigan  no 
small  offence  by  refusing  to  believe  it." 

"And  why  would  you  not  believe  it.  Miss  Rose?" 
said  Giacomo,  evidently  much  pleased. 

"  I'll  answer  that  question,"  Rose  quickly  replied, 
"  when  you  tell  me,  Signor,  why  you  were  three 
days  in  Drogheda  without  coming  to  see  my  aunt." 

"  A  fair  proposal,  Giacomo," '  said  M'ss  Ackland 
smiling,  "  come,  give  an  account  of  yourself." 

"  Some  other  time  I  will-  not  now,"  said  Giacomo, 
u  but  I  was  forgetting  my  sister's  letter,  Miss  Ack- 
land !"  and  he  handed  her  the  letter,  which  she 
glanced  over  with  evident  pleasure,  then  handed  it  to 
Rose. 

"What  a  sweet  girl  your  sister  Maddalena  must 
be,"  observed  Miss  Ackland ;  "  somehow  I  feel  a  long- 
ing desire  to  make  her  acquaintance — that  is  in  per- 
son— for  I  fancy  I  know  her  now  in  heart  and  mind 
as  well  as  I  ever  could  know  her.  It  seems  to  me 
that  I  should  love  her  dearly." 

"Why,  that  is  just  what  Maddalena  says  of  you," 
said  Giacomo  laughing;  "Miss  Rose  she  thinks  she 
could  /ike,  Miss  Ackland  she  would  love,  nay,  lovea 
even  now." 


gO±  fllE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    Bl'YNE. 

"  What  a  remarkable  coincidence  !"  said  Rose  in  a 
tone  so  like  that  of  worthy  Mr.  Brodigan  that  eve  a 
her  grave  aunt  could  not  refuse  a  smile. 

"  I  was  much  amused  yesterday  evening,"  said  Gi- 
acomo,  after  a  short  and  rather  awkward  silence, 
(:  by  a  scene  I  witnessed  at  the  Tholsel  —I  believe 
you  call  it — that  gloomy  town-hall  of  yours.  I  was 
passing  by  there  about  eight  o'clock,  when  I  saw  the 
building  lighted  up,  and  some  people  going  in,  but 
what  most  attracted  my  attention  was  that  funny  old 
bellman  of  yours,  walking  in  that  lazy  way  that  is  pe- 
culiar to  him,  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  building, 
neither  faster  nor  slower. — slower  he  couldn't  well 
go — ringing  his  big  bell  and  repeating  these  words — 
'  Walk  in,  gentlemen  !  walk  in  !  Hell  open,  gentle- 
men ! — Hell  open  !'*  Hearing  such  a  singular  invi- 
tation given  to  the  public,  I  thought  /would  'step 
in'  and  see  what  was  going  on,  noticing,  as  I  did  so, 
that  those  who  went  in  were  few,  compared  with 
those  who  laughed  and  passed  on." 

"Well!  and  what  was  it?"  said  Miss  Ackland,  ex- 
changing a  glance  of  intelligence  with  Rose;  she 
knew  well  enough,  but  she  wished  to  hear  Giacomo's 
account  of  it. 

"  Why,  it  was  a  meeting  of  l  The  Irish  Church 
Missionary  Society,1  as  I  afterwards  saw  by  the  pla- 
cards on  the  walls,  but  the  whole  business  of  the 
meeting  seemed  to  be  to  abuse  and  vilify  the  Catholic 
religion.     Such  stories  as  I  heard  told  there  by  grave 

*  This  rt-ally  occurred  in  Drogheda. 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         205 

looking  men,  well-dressed,  and,  you  world  think,  sen- 
sible enough,  concerning  what  they  called  '  Romish 
superstition,1  I  never  heard  in  all  my  life  before. 
They  were  so  childish,  so  ridiculous,  and  all  about 
people  without  a  name,  and  with  no  particular  place 
of  residence,  that  I  could  scarce  keep  from  laughing 
to  see  how  attentively  they  were  listened  to.  Some 
of  them  were  located  in  my  country,  at  the  village 
of  A  or  B,  and  so  forth,  and  always  to  some  C  or 
D,  or  some  other  letter  of  the  alphabet.  I  only  wish 
you  could  have  heard  them,  Miss  Ackland  !  for  I 
know  it  would  have  given  you  much  amusement. 
For  my  part,  I  might  have  been  annoyed,  only  I 
wondered  so  much  at  the  gravity  with  which  the 
speakers  spoke,  and  the  audience  listened,  to  such 
nonsensical  rigmaroles  that  I  forgot  it  was  of  my 
own  religion  such  absurd  stories  were  being  told." 

"  Oh  !  that  is  nothing  new  to  us  here,"  said  Miss 
Ackland,  "  but  we  only  laugh  at  those  knaves  or 
fanatics,  whichever  they  may  be.  You  see  how  the 
bellman  was  employed  to  turn  them  into  ridicule. 
That  is  just  how  we  treat  them  here  in  Drogheda. 
We  have  '  soupers'  here,  as  they  are  called  (from 
their  attempts  to  bribe  the  poor  through  their  appe- 
tites), but  they  never  succeed  in  making  one  pervert, 
unless  it  be  some  miserable  wretch  who  is  willing  to 
barter  his  or  her  soul,  like  Esau,  for  a  mess  of  pottage. 
The  townspeople  only  laugh  at  the  efforts  of  these 
Missionaries'  to  make  Protestants.  I  rather  think 
they  find  our  old  borough  too  hot  to  hold  them,  at 


206 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 


times,  for  the  very  boys  on  the  streets  plague  them 
with  questions  about  religion  which  they  cannot 
answer.  Have  you  none  of  these  Protestant  mission- 
aries in  Italy  ?" 

"  Yes,  wre  have  them  in  shoals  ;  they  every  year 
come  to  us  in  greater  numbers ;  they  call  themselves 
there  'evangelists'  and  other  such  names." 

"  Well !  and  how  do  they  succeed  there  in  making 
perverts  ?" 

"  They  make  no  perverts,  so  to  say,  from  the 
Church ;  those  whom  they  induce  to  join  them  out- 
wardly, are  already  deprived  of  faith, — on  account 
of  their  bad  morals,  I  suppose, — and,  therefore,  have 
none  to  lose.  But  even  they  are  only  few  in  numbers, 
as  I  have  always  understood  " 

The  conversation  then  turned  on  matters  of  more 
immediate  interest,  and  the  evening  passed  so  plea- 
santly, that  all  were  surprised  when  the  clock  struck 
ten  soon  after  which  Giacomo  took  his  leave. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

Whatever  GiacomcTs  business  might  have  been  in 
Drogheda,  he  seemed  to  have  an  abundanceof  time 
for  all  purposes  of  amusement  and  of  social  enjoy- 
ment.    He  said  that  his  father  had  given  him  permis- 
sion to  remain  some  weeks  after  his  business  arrange- 
ments were  completed,  in  oider  to  see  soms  more  cf 
the  country  around  Drogheda.    It  annoyed  him  moie 
than  a  little  when  he  found  that  Miss  Ackland  an1 
Rose   were  necessarily  confined   to  the  schoolroom 
during  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  so  that  he  could 
not  have  their  company  in  all  his  excursions.     But 
Saturday  was  at  their  disposal,  and  he  contrived  to 
visit  the  most  interesting  scenes  and  localities  on  that 
day,  when  most  of  all  he  enjoyed  their  beauties,  and 
learned  the  most  of  their  historical  and  legendary 
lore.     Jemmy  Nulty  was  one  of  the  first  for  whom 
he  inquired,  but  Jemmy,  he  learned,  had  "  shuffled  off 
his  mortal  coil,"  and  gone  to  rest  till   Doomsday  in 
the  little  monastic  graveyard  by  the  side  of  the  bro- 
ther he  loved  so  well,  his  brother  in  faith,  hope,  and 
charity,  no  less  than  in  blood.     "  Happy  pair  !"  said 
Giacomo,  when  Miss  Ackland,  with  tearful  eyes,  spoke 
of  the  truly  Christian  brothers  now  reunited  in  the 


208  TIIE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

calm  sleep  of  death.  "  Happy  pair  !  who  would  not 
envy  such  a  death  ?  Poor  Jemmy  seemed  to  have 
*  presentiment  that  we  should  meet  no  more  on  earth, 
for  he  asked  me,  if  I  '  missed  him1  on  returning  to 
Drogheda,  to  remember  him  in  my  prayers  Kind 
old  man  !  indeed  I  shall  not  forget  him  !  he  reminded 
me  of  nothing  so  much  as  the  simple  anchorets  of 
other  days,  who  lived  in  the  desert  with  G  jd  and  their 
own  souls." 

A  shade  of  deeper  thought  passed  over  his  face  as 
he  thus  spoke,  and  when  he  raised  his  eyes  again,  he 
found  Rose  watching  hi  n  with  an  earnestness  o** 
which  she  herself  was  hardly  conscirus,  yet  she 
blushed  slightly,  and  turned  away  with  some  degree 
of  embarrassment,  laughing  the  while  at  Giacomo's 
unwonted  seriousness. 

"  Let  Jemmy  rest  in  peace,"  said  she,  taking  up  her 
tapestry  frame,  "  which  I  have  no  doubt  he  does,  the 
good  old  soul.  You  intend,  of  course,  to  go  to  Bel- 
iewstown  races,  Signor  ? — They  come  off  next  week/' 

"  I  should  certainly  like  to  go,"  was  the  reply,  "  and 
I  have  invitations  from  the  Brodigans,  Tiernans  and 

others,  to  go  with  them,  but "  lie  stopped  short 

and  looked  at  Miss  Ackland,  "  I  do  not  know  whether 
I  shall  go  or  not," 

"  But  you  shall  go,  my  dear  Giacomo,"  said  Miss 
Ackland  with  a  smile,  rightly  interpr3ting  his  hesita- 
tion ;  "  if  respect  for  the  unforgotten  dead  will  not  per- 
mit all  your  Drogheda  friends  to  be  there,  that  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  miss  seeing  what  will  be  new 


TIIE    OLD    mUSE    BV    THE    BOTKB.  209 

to  you,  and  is  really  in  itself  worth  seeing,  especially 
for  a  stranger.     You  must  go  to  Bellewstown." 

"  With  whom  would  you  wish  me  to  go,  if  go  I 
must  ?"  said  Giacamo  in  a  listless  way. 

"  Oh  !  the  Brodigans,  of  course  ;  they  would  natu- 
rally feel  hurt,  being  our  most  intimate  friends,  if  you 
did  not  go  with  them.  Harry  Cusack,  I  suppose,  will 
join  their  party  " 

"  I  do  not  think  so,  Aunt  Lydia,"  said  Rose,  "  he 
told  me  he  had  promised  to  go  with  the  people  out 
Duleek  Gate.  It  seems  they  have  friends  coming 
down  from  Dublin  for  the  Races,  and  expect  to  have 
quite  a  large  party  there." 

It  was  settled  then  and  there,  however,  that  Gia- 
como  was  to  go  with  the  Brodigans,  and  accordingly 
the  young  ladies  of  that  family  had  the  triumph 
of  parading  the  handsome  stranger  as  one  of  their 
attendant  cavaliers  the  first  day  of  the  Races.  And 
truly  it  was  a  novel  sight  to  our  young  Italian,  and 
one  that  was  characteristic  of  Drogheda,  to  whose 
genial,  free-hearted  burghers  those  annual  Races  at 
Bellewstown  were  (and  we  suppose  are)  a  sort  of 
carnival,  during  which  all,  or  nearly  all,  business  was 
suspended  in  the  town,  and  all  of  its  population  who 
could  manage  to  go,  were,  day  after  day,  "off  to  Bel- 
lewstown," the  rich  riding  or  driving,  the  poor  trudg- 
ing on  foot, — the  distance  is  only  a  few  miles — and 
all  in  the  best  possible  humor  for  being  happy  them- 
selves and  making  others  happy.  At  Bellewstown 
the  generous  hospitality  of  that  proverbially  hospit* 


210  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

able  town  seemed  to  reach  its  height.  The  Drogheda 
people  made  it  a  point  to  have  as  many  of  their 
friends  from  other  places  for  that  great  occasion  as 
they  possibly  could,  and  it  was  a  stirring  scene  of  harm- 
less mirth  and  jollity  when  hundreds  of  different  parties 
were  bivouacking  a  la  pic-nic  on  the  smooth  green 
sward  at  some  particular  hour  of  the  day  when  "  the 
horses  were  not  running."  It  was  a  scene  to  be  remem- 
bered. What  with  the  merry  music  of  pipes  and  fid- 
dles from  the  tents,  the  countless  multitude  of  happy, 
joyous  faces,  all  intent  on  sport,  the  numerous  groups 
scattered  over  the  spacious  green  surrounding  the 
Course,  enjoying  their  creature  comforts  with  laugh 
and  jest,  in  which  the  passers-by  often  shared  ;  the 
rows  of  carriages  of  all  kinds  drawn  up  without  the 
ropes  which  marked  the  limits  of  the  Course,  from 
the  handsome  and  elegant  barouche  of  the  nobleman 
with  its  heraldric  devices  and  liveried  servants,  to  the 
plain  gig  and  jaunting-car  of  the  respectable  shop- 
keeper, or  the  wealthy  farmer,  "the  ladies". being 
generally  stationed  in  the  latter  class  to  see  the  Races, 
whilst  the  very  highest  ascended  the  stand  in  the 
centre,  where  might  be  found  almost  any  year,  about 
the  time  we  write  of,  the  Lord  Lieutenant  of  the 
day,  all  the  eighteen  miles  of  way  from  Dublin,  and 
the  heads  of  the  Louth,  Meath,  and  Dublin  aris- 
tocracy, Ihe  stand-house  itself  being  a  gay  sight  to 
look  upon,  with  its  national  and  other  flags  and 
streamers  dancing  in  the  summer-breeze  that  swept 
across  that  high  table-land  from  the  Irish  Sea  on  one 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    LY    THE    BOYNE. 


211 


side,  and  on  the  other  the  Bay  of  Dundalk,  whose 
blue  waters  were  visible  in  the   distance,  with  the 
shapely  forms  of  the  Mourne  Mountains  rising  vague 
and  misty  beyond  it.     It  ivas  a  scene  of  life,  and 
beauty,  and  animation,  and  our  young   Leghor?:er 
thought,  as  he  cast  his  eyes  over  the  rich  plains  of 
three  level  counties  lying  in  beauty  and  freshr.ess  be- 
low on  every  side,  then  looked  through  the  vistas 
opening  between  hills  and  mountains  to  the  bolder 
outlines  of  the  northern  scenery,  far  away  in  the  coun- 
ties of  Cavan  and  Monaghan,  that  even  his  own  sunny 
Italy  presented  few  scenes  by  nature  fairer  than  that 
to  which  worthy  Mr.  Brodigan  took  care  to  call  his 
attention.     But  it  was  only  to  Mr.  Brodigan  or  his 
plain  but  intelligent  wife  that  Giacomo  listened  witli 
any  degree  of  pleasure ;  in  vain  did  Miss  Jan  j  quote 
sentimental  poetry,  and  compose  fine  sentences  de- 
scriptive of  the  surrounding  scenery  ;  in  vain  did  Miss 
Brodigan  unbend  from  her  usual  hauteur,  an  1  conde- 
scend to  hang  on  his  arm,  when  they  all  too1;  a  turn 
round  the  green  during  the  intervals  of  the  races ; 
iris  thoughts  were  in  the  old  house  by  the  Boyne,  and 
the  schoolroom  where   two  bright   kindred    spirits 
were  shut  up  at  their  wearisome,  monotonous  task — 

"  P.  nt  in  lb  •  w  -ary  schoolroom  <la  ing  summ  ?r.' 
Thero  he   would   rather  be,  he  sadly  thought,  than 
where  he  was  on  the  breezy  plain  with  the  beauty  of 
earth,  and  sea,  and  sky  before  him,  and  a  world  of 
life  and  gay  festivity  around  him. 

'«  If  they  were  only  here,"  he  thought,  "  or  I  with 


212  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNK. 

them — oh!  that  we  might  live  together  always—  al- 
ways— then  life  would  be  life  indeed  !"  He  thought 
of  MaLlalena,  then  of  his  father,  and  the  glow  faded 
from  his  cheek, 

It  was  after  sundown  when  Giacomo  and  his  party 
reached  the  city,  and  politely  declining  Mrs.  Brodi- 
gan's  pressing  invitation  to  go  home  with  them  and] 
spend  the  evening,  he  hastened  at  once  to  the  old 
house  on  the  hill,  where  he  found  the  aunt  and  niece 
seated  on  the  esplanade  enjoying  the  rare  beauty  of 
the  evening.  They  seemed  surprised  to  see  him,  and 
Rose  said,  as  her  aunt  made  place  for  him  on  the  rus 
tic  bench  beside  her — 

"  Why,  Signor,  I  had  no  idea  that  we  should  see 
you  this  evening.  I  thought  you  would  have  gone 
home  with  the  Brodigans." 

"  No,  I  was  kindly  invited  to  do  so,  but  after  the 
bustle  and  excitement  of  the  day,  I  longed  for  quiet, 
so  I  came  where  I  was  sure  to  find  it." 

Miss  Ackland  smiled  gratefully,  she  knew  that  he 
came  to  them  because  he  feared  that  being  all  alone, 
they  must  feel  lonely  at  such  a  time.  Rose  exclaimed 
with  her  usual  animation, — but  a  trifle  more  eagerly 
than  usual — 

"  So,  then,  you  didn't  like  Belle wstown — you  didn't 
enjoy  the  Races,  or  anything,  as  we  hoped  you  would  ?" 

Giacomo  fixed  a  meaning  glance  on  her  as  he  re- 
plied— "  On  the  contrary,  Miss  Rose,  I  did  like  Bel- 
lewstown,  very,  very  much,  and  I  did  enjoy  the  Races 
and  all  the  rest,  but  shall  I  confess  that  the  excite 


THE  OLP  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         213 

oient  and  general  bustle  was  too  much  for  me,  and 
that  I  was  really  glad  to  return  into  town  ?" 

"  But  you  will,  of  course,  go  back  to-morrow  ?" 

"  No,  I  have  had  quite  enough  of  it,  Miss  Ackland ! 
I  saw  to-day  all  I  desire  to  see  of  Bellewstown  and 
the  Races.  Only  let  me  accompany  you  and  Miss 
Rose  in  your  walk  to-morrow  evening,  and  I  shall 
enjoy  it  more  in  one  little  hour  than  an  hundred  such 
days  as  this." 

"  My  dear  Giacomo,  you  are  very  kind  to  say  so  ; 
if  that  be  the  case,  come  and  take  tea  with  us  to-mor- 
row, an  early  tea,  at  six  o'clock,  and  we  shall  take 
you  to  our  favorite  walk  up  the  Rathmullen  Road." 

"  The  Rathmullen  Road  !  oh !  I  remember  Miss 
Rose  speaking  of  it  once  before — that  is  to  say  last 
winter  when  I  svas  here.  I  shall  be  much  pleased  to 
see  it." 

"  We  have  not  been  there  for  some  time,"  said 
Rose,  addressing  her  aunt,  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  the 
dear  old  place  myself;  especially  as  we  can  stay 
longer  and  later,  having  an  escort  with  us,"  she  added 
smiling. 

"  Are  escorts  then  necessary  here  ?"  said  Giacomo, 
observing  that  she  laid  a  certain  emphasis  on  the 
word.  "  I  should  think  in  a  quiet  old  town  like  this, 
ladies  might  walk  abroad  at  all  hours  of  the  day. 
or  even  of  the  early  night." 

"  So  it  would  be,"  replied  Miss  Ackland,  "  were  we 
left  to  our  own  population,  but  you  forget,  Giacomo, 
that  this  is  a  garrison  town,"  she  said  pointedly. 


214  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

"  Oh  !  then  it  is  the  military  who  make  it  unsafe  ?" 
said  Giacomo,  and  he  looked  at  Rose  who  was  bend- 
ing in  silence  over  a  volume  of  engravings,  her  color 
higher  than  usual,  it  appeared  to  him.  "  Your  gen- 
tlemen of  the  army,  then,  are  not  the  preux  chevaliers 
they  ought  to  be  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Rose,  perhaps,  in  the  spirit  of  con- 
tradiction, "  there  are  some  of  them  here — one  espe- 
cially— who  looks  as  though  he  might  be  a  veritable 
Bayard  or  Du  Guesclin,  and  whom  I  have  never  seen 
act  indecorously !" 

Giacomo  looked  surprised,  and  so  did  Miss  Ack- 
land  ;  the  latter,  however,  tried  to  pass  it  off  as  a  jest, 
and  said  with  her  sweet,  sad  smile — 

"  Oh !  you  mean  Major  Melville,  Rose  ! — I  see  you 
praise  him,  by  force  of  contrast.  And  I  believe  you 
are  right;  compared  with  those  younger  brother-offi- 
cers of  his,  he  does  appear  very  much  of  a  gentleman." 

Giacomo  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  wondering 
what  it  all  meant ;  at  last  he  said — 

"  Miss  Rose  appears  to  have  seen  a  good  deal  of 
these  military  gentlemen  of  late." 

"  There  you  are  mistaken,  Signor,"  said  Rose 
quickly;  "I  have  never  been  introduced  to  one  of 
them,  and  have  only  met  them  on  the  road  or  the 
Btreet," 

"  It  is  not  so  said  here  in  Drogheda,"  Giacomo  re- 
plied in  a  tone  of  forced  composure.  "  I  was  told  the 
very  day  after  my  arrival  that  some  of  them  were 
your  particular  admirers.'' 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         2U» 

He  looked  so  grave  that  Rose  could  not  help 
Laughing.  "  And  do  you  suppose,  Signor,  that  any 
young  lady  hereabouts  would  consider  that  a  misfor- 
tune ?" 

''Not  if  the  admirer  were  such  as  you  describe 
your  Major  Melville,"  he  replied  still  more  seriously. 

"  My  Major  Melville,"  cried  Rose  with  her  merriest 
laugh;  "  he  certainly  is  not  my  Major  Melville,  and  it 
is  more  than  probable  that  he  is  somebody  else's 
Major  Melville  long  before  now.  Do  pray,  Aunt 
Lydia  !  tell  this  puzzled  Signor  how  we  came  to  meet 
the  gentleman  in  question !" 

Miss  Ackland,  pleased  to  see  the  turn  Rose  had 
given  the  conversation,  willingly  complied,  and  re- 
lated the  adventure  with  the  officers  on  the  Rath- 
mullen  Road,  with  the  exception  of  the  episode 
between  Major  Melville  and  herself.  When  she  had 
finished  Giacomo  drew  a  long  breath,  like  one  who 
felt  relieved : 

"  So  this  was  the  beginning  of  the  affair ;  and  the 
sequel  was — those  annoyances  to  which  Miss  Rose 
has  been  subjected  by  these  gentlemen"  with  a  bitter 
emphasis  on  the  last  word. 

"  Annoyances  !"  Rose  repeated  with  some  surprise  j 
"  what  annoyances  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Those  of  which  I  heard  you  complain  to  your 
aunt  the  first  evening  I  saw  you  after  my  return." 

"  So  you  heard  her  ?"  said  Miss  Ackland. 

"  Yes,  I  did;  I  was  just  crossing  the  esplanade  to 
the  front  door,  when,  hearing  your  voices  in  the  gar- 


216  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

den,  I  thought  I  would  take  you  by  surprise,  and 
having  ascertained  what  part  of  the  garden  you  were 
in,  I  went  round  by  the  shady  walk  at  the  further 
end,  and  met  you  as  you  know." 

Miss  Ackland  and  Rose  both  thought  of  the  rust- 
ling amongst  the  branches,  but  they  mert-ly  exchanged 
looks,  and  Giacomo  went  on :  "  You  will  not,  I  hope, 
think  the  worse  of  me,  ladies,  when  I  tell  you  that  I 
purposely  waited  to  hear  the  conclusion  of  Miss 
.Rose's  explanation." 

"  And  I  hope  you  found  it  satisfactory,  Signor  ?" 
said  Rose  with  ironical  gravity. 

"  Perfectly  so,"  he  said  with  a  look  that  brought 
the  eloquent  blood  to  her  cheek.  Yet  she  laughed 
lightly  and  carelessly. 

"  How  satisfactory !  Well !  really,  Signor,  you  do 
talk  strangely  at  times ! — do  you  know,  Aunt  Lydia, 
I  sometimes  think  that  that  bump  his  head  got 
against  the  rocks  at  Clogher  may  have  seriously  af- 
fected his  brain.  Are  you  subject  to  headaches, 
Signor  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Giacomo  laughing,  and  as  Miss  Ack- 
land turned  away  with  a  gentle  "  For  shame,  Rose ! 
what  a  silly  girl  you  are !"  he  added  in  a  low  whisper, 
"  but  I  am  to  heart-aches — can  you  account  for  them  ?" 

"  You  give  me  credit  for  more  skill  than  I  possess, 
Signor  ! — what  should  I  know  of  heart-aches  or  their 
cause  ?"  Was  it  the  red  cloud  which  the  sun  had 
left  at  his  setting  "  to  preside  o'er  the  scene"  that 
crimsoned  her  cheek  just  then  ? 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         217 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  lovelier  evening  ?"  said  Miss 
Ackland,  returning  from  the  western  end  of  the  es- 
planade, where  she  had  stood  a  moment  regarding 
with  that  ardent  love  of  the  beautiful,  which  was  one 
of  her  strongest  characteristics,  the  sunset  glow  that 
lit  up  the  lovely  scene  around.  "  How  one's  heart 
expands  at  such  a  moment,  and  one's  spirit  casts  off 
its  weary  load  in  the  last  fair  hour  of  day  !"  Then 
she  murmured  low,  as  she  threw  herself  wearily  on 
the  bench  beside  Giacomo — 

1  The  twilight  hour  !  the  twilight  hour !  which  poets  vie  to  praise, 
And  it  is  now  a  weariness  so  loved  in  other  days." 

He  who  watched  her  read  her  heart,  for  he  loved 
her  as  a  dear  elder  sister ;  he  took  her  hand,  and  said 
with  a  tenderness  of  sympathy  that  brought  tears  to 
her  eyes — 

"  You  have  known  many  sorrows,  my  friend,  my 
benefactress !  would  that  I  could  do  anything  to  ef- 
face their  remembrance !" 

Miss  Ackland  turned  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  her  voice  was  tremulous  with  emotion 
as  she  replied — "  Giacomo.  my  dear  young  friend  I 
I  would  not  forget  my  sorrows  if  I  could,  but  believe 
me,  your  sympathy  consoles  me.  It  reminds  me  of 
one  whose  voice  I  shall  never  hear  again  on  earth." 

u  Then  there  was  one  whom  you  regarded  with 
favor  ?" 

"  Yes,  Giacom ),  I  will  not  conceal  it  from  you 
towards  whom  I  feel  as  a  mother  to  a  very  dear  child 
—  yes 


218  THE   OLD    IIOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE. 

1  There  was  one  who  once  with  me  so  woo'd  this  quiet  hour, 
As  young  hearts  tired  of  revelry  woo  slumber's  gentle  power' — 

one  who  loved  me,  and  whom  I  loved — oh  how  well 
— Low  truly." 

"  I  knew  it,"  he  said  with  a  strange  earnestness,  "  1 
knew  you  had  loved  and  been  beloved.  How  could 
it  be  otherwise  ?" 

There  was  dead  silence  for  a  while ;  the  spell  of  the 
hour  and  the  scene  had  fallen  on  all ;  the  moon  was 
rising  slowly  above  the  horizon,  and  her  light  still 
veiled  and  subdued  shed  a  solemn  glory  over  the  pic- 
ture of  sea  and  land  and  town  and  river  that  lay 
spread  like  a  map  below ;  the  sounds  of  busy  life  had 
died,  it  would  seem,  with  the  departing  day,  and  only 
the  watch-dog's  bark  broke  on  the  ear,  or  at  long  in- 
tervals the  shrill  whistle  of  some  passer-by  on  the 
road  beneath,  or  the  creaking  voice  of  the  corn-crake 
in  the  meadows  behind  the  town.  Silence  was  on 
the  land  and  the  water,  and  as  the  shadows  of 
twilight  gradually  gave  place  to  the  beams  of  the 
rising  orb  of  night  the  scene  was  beautiful  beyond 
expression. 

"  Does  your  Tuscan  Val  d'Arno  much  exceed 
that  ?"  said  Rose  at  length,  as  if  anxious  to  break  a 
silence  which  she,  at  least,  felt  oppressive ;  could 
you  by  any  stretch  of  imagination  suppose  our  Boync 
to  be  the  Arno  ?" 

"  As  regards  the  river  itself  I  might  easily  get  up 
the  illusion,  for  your  Boyne  is  as  bright,  its  banks,  in 
many  places,  at  least,  to  the  full  as  picturesque,  and  J 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE. 


219 


believe  it  is  to  your  history  and  tradition  very  much 

what  the  Arno  is  to  us  Tuscans,  but " 

"  Oh !  of  course,  there's  a  but— what  is  it,  Signor  ?" 
"  Why,"  said  Giacorao,  laughing,  "  it  would  require 
a  greater  stretch  of  imagination  than  I  could  boast,  to 
transform  yonder  old  town  into  Florence,  the  fair 
queen  of  the  Arno.  Truly  she  is  Fiorenza  il  bella— 
Florence  the  Beautiful !" 

"I  should  like  to  see  Florence,  and  Rome,  and 
Venice,"  said  Rose  half  abstractedly,  as  she  watched 
the  broad  yellow  disk  of  the  lady-moon  rising  ovei 
the  shining  sea. 

"Why  not  Leghorn?"  said  Giacomo ;  "it  is  a  fair 
city,  too,  looking  out  from  orange  groves  and  myrtle 
bowers  on  the  broad  bosom  of  the  Mediterranean." 

"  Oh  !  Leghorn !  who  cares  about  Leghorn  ?"  said 
Rose,  falling  back  on  her  old  ways. 

"  I  do,  for  one,"  said  the  young  man  reproachfully. 
"  If  it  be  not  equal  to  other  Italian  cities  in  beauty,  in 
splendor,  or  in  old  and  high  renown,  it  is  my  city,  and 
I  love  it  best  of  all." 

"Forgive  me,  Signor!"  said  Rose  very  gently;  "I 
did  not  mean  to  speak  disrespectfully  of  your  native 
city— I  only  meant  to  say  that  it  has  not  the  same 
hold  on  the  imagination  as  any  of  the  other  cities  I 
mentioned.     You  yourself  must  admit  that." 

"  Some  day,"  he  replied  in  alow  tone.  "I  will  hope 
to  convince  you -that  the  city  of  Pietro  di  Medici  is 
not  altogether  unworthy  of  its  founder.     But  hc^ 


220  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOVNE. 

comes  Nancy,"  he  said,  seeing  the  old  woman  pro- 
truding  her  head  from  the  doorway. 

"  Do  you  want  me,  Nancy  ?"  said  Miss  Ackland 
standing  up. 

"It's  one  from  Baltray  that's  within,  Miss  Ack 
land,  an'  wants  to  see  you  very  bad." 

With  a  slight  apology  to  Giacomo,  Miss  Ackland 
entered  the  house,  but  Nancy  seemed  inclined  to  lin- 
ger, and  on  a  kind  invitation  from  Rose  to  come  out 
and  talk  to  Signor  Giacomo,  squatted  herself  on  the 
ground  beside  the  bench  where  he  sat. 

"  You  are  keeping  your  health  well,  Nancy  !"  said 
the  young  gentleman  with  that  easy  condescension 
that  marks  the  really  well-bred  in  their  intercourso 
with  their  inferiors. 

"  Well  then,  I  am,  sir,  thank  God,  an'  you  for  the 
askin';  but  you  don't  know  how  lonesome  I  am  for 
the  ould  master,  God  rest  his  soul!" 

"  I  can  well  believe  that,  Nancy  ! — but  now  I  think 
of  it,  I  forgot  to  ask  after  your  old  friend  Tab:  I 
have  not  seen  her  since  I  came." 

"Ah!  poor  thing,  she's  dead,  too,"  said  the  old  wo- 
man with  a  melancholy  shake  of  the  head,  her  chin 
resting  on  her  hand,  her  elbow  on  her  knee. 

"  Dead,  is  she  ?" 

"  Aye,  indeed,  and  do  you  know,  Mr.  Jacomy  !  (so 
she  always  called  him),  I  miss  her  more  than  I  ever 
thought  I'd  miss  one  of  her  kind." 

"What !  and  she  an  enchanted  Dane  ?" 

"  Och  !  the  sorra  Dane  or  Dane  she  was,  the  pooi 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    B*    YH55    BOYNE.  121 

harmless  crature,  an1  many^s  ihe  time  1  was  sorry 
since  she  died  for  the  grudge  I  had  again  her." 

"  There's  a  touch  of  human  nature,"  said  Rose  in 
an  under  tone,  "  death,  you  see,  like  charity,  covers 
a  multitude  of  sins,  and  sometimes  sheds  a  halo  round 
those  who  in  life  we  did  not  value  as  we  ought." 

"  So  that  if  even  /  were  dead,  who  knows  but  some 
one  might  encircle  my  memory  with  the  halo  you 
speak  of " 

Here  Nancy  started  to  her  feet  and  hastened  into 
the  house,  having,  as  she  said,  heard  Miss  Ackland 
call  her. 

"  Do  you  think  any  one  would  miss  me  if  I  were 
gone  ?"  persisted  Giacomo,  bending  forward  to  look 
in  the  face  of  his  companion. 

"  Why,  how  can  I  tell  ?"  said  Rose  in  her  laughing 
way ;  "  I  suppose,  though,  you  would  have  no  worse 
chance  than  our  old  Tab.  You  see  she  is  not  for- 
gotten." 

"  You  are  really  quite  complimentary,  Miss  Rose  ! — ■ 
Well !  /  know  one  who  would  be  remembered  and 
would  never  be  forgotten  while  one  heart  throbbed 
with  life." 

Rose  Ackland  smiled,  and  a  softened  expression 
stole  over  the  brightness  of  her  face ;  but  it  passed 
way  in  an  instant,  and  she  said  in  a  sort  of  musing 
way — "  And  /  know  one,  or  at  least,  I  knew  of  one 
who  though  many,  many  years  dead,  is  still  as  fondly 
beloved,  as  well  remembered  as  though  he  died  but 
yesterday." 


222  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE. 

Giacomo  was  silent  for  a  moment ;  then  he  asked 
somewhat  abruptly,  Rose  thought — "  But  is  he  dead, 
then,  of  whom  you  speak  ?" 

il  Why,  of  whom  do  you  think  I  am  speaking  ?  1 
did  not  tell  you,  did  I  ?" 

"  No,  but  somehow  it  seemed  to  me  as  though  I 
knew." 

Rose  turned  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  him  with  a 
startled  look :  he  smiled  and  went  on — "  That  is,  I 
thought  I  might  have  known,  but  since  you  say  the 
person  so  long  and  tenderly  remembered  is  dead,  that 
changes  the  whole  affair.  I  find  I  was  mistaken — ■ 
that  is  to  say,  that  my  imagination  was  running  away 
with  my  reason.  But  it  is  half-past  nine  o'clock," 
looking  at  his  watch,  "  and  I  must  away  to  my  solit- 
ary room  in  West  street." 

"  But  tell  me  before  you  go,  Signor,  why  it  was 
that  you  did  not  come  into  Mabel's  cottage  that  day, 
but  left,  instead,  your  name  on  the  strand  ?  Were 
you  there,  or  were  you  not  ?" 

"  I  was  there ;  I  had  gone  down  to  see  Mabel,  for 
I  really  feel  interested  in  that  old  woman,  but  when 
I  got  there  I  changed  my  mind " 

"  You  heard  we  were  there — was  that  the  reason  V 

"  It  was." 

"  You  are  very  candid,  Signor  Giacomo, — more 
candid  than  polite,  I  think." 

"  You  asked  me  a  plain  question ;  truth  obliged  me 
to  give  a  plain  answer." 

"  But  why  write  your  name  on  the  sand  ?" 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  223 

"  To  let  you  know  I  had  been  there,  and  was  gone." 
"  Well,  really,  you  grow  worse  and  worse." 
"  Sincerity  is  a  virtue,  you  know,  Signoia !" 
"  Tell  me,  then,  in  your  sincerity,  why  you  wished 
to  avoid  us." 

"  Your  aunt  I  never  wished  to  avoid,  it  was  you, 
Miss  Rose,  and  for  the  same  reason  that  would  have 
prevented  me  from  visiting  your  house — at  least  from 
seeing  you — had  I  not  chanced  to  overhear  what 
passed  between  your  aunt  and  you  that  evening  in 
the  garden.  I  had  heard  of  you  immediately  on  my 
arrival  what  grieved  and  mortified  me  beyond  ex- 
pression." 

Rose  stood  up,  her  cheek  burning,  and  an  angry 
light  in  her  dark  eyes: 

"  And  did  you  suppose,  Signor,  that  your  absent- 
ing yourself  from  our  house  would  punish  me  for 
my  supposed  folly  and  indiscretion  ? — If  you  did,  you 
have  more  vanity  than  I  would  have  suspected.' 

"Miss  Rose  Ackland,"  said  Giacomo,  idso  rising, 
the  warm  southern  blood  rushing  from  his  heart  to 
his  face,  "  I  am  not  so  vain  as  to  imagine  anything 
idea,  be  assured  there  is  little  danger  of  my  now  lapsing 
so  preposterous,  but  if  I  ever  had  entertained  such  an 
into  such  folly.  Were  I  disposed  to  enter  into  ex- 
planations, you  might  see  my  conduct  in  a  different 
light ;  but  I  am  not,  and  so  let  the  matter  rest.  I 
will  merely  say  'good  night'  to  your  aunt,  thtn  rid 
you  of  my  company — for  the  present.  May  I  have 
the  honor  ? '  and  he  offered  her  his  arm  with  cool  po« 


224  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

liteness.  Rose  did  not  choose  to  notice  the  motion, 
and  they  walked  in  together.  They  found  Miss  Ack- 
land  preparing  to  go  down  to  Baltray,  having  learned 
that  Mabel  was  unusually  ill,  and  wished  to  see  her. 
Giacomo  at  once  offered  to  accompany  her,  and  his 
offer  being  gladly  accepted,  they  immediately  set  out 
for  Baltray.  It  was  a  pleasant  walk  they  had  by  the 
Boyne  side  in  the  clear  moonlight,  Giacomo  talking 
the  while  of  his  father  and  Maddalena,  till  Miss  Ack- 
land  imagined  she  could  see  both  one  and  the  other 
of  those  who,  for  his  sake,  she  already  loved,  she 
said. 

"  My  sister  cherishes  the  same  feelings  towards  you, 
my  kind  dear  friend,"  said  the  warm-hearted  young 
Italian ;  "  she  desires,  more  than  almost  anything  else, 
to  see  you,  and  thank  you  in  person  for  your  more 
than  kindness  to  her  only  brother." 

"And  your  father?"  questioned  Miss  Ackland,  half 
unconscious  that  she  was  betraying  the  surprise  she 
felt  at  hearing  so  little  of  his  gratitude. 

"  Oh  !  my  father,"  replied  the  youth,  with  some 
degree  of  embarrassment — "  my  father  is  never  de- 
monstrative ;  he  seldom  talks  of  his  feelings.  But  I 
am  sure  he  appreciates  your  goodness  to  me,  stranger 
as  I  then  was  to  you." 

"My  dear  Giacomo,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  "you 
overrate  the  trifling  service  I  had  in  my  power  to 
render  to  you,  so,  I  believe,  does  your  sweet  sister, 
but  it  cannot  be  expected  that  your  father  should 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  ZZC 

feel  as  fervently  as  you  do.     Why,  here  we  are  at 
Baltray ;  truly,  we  have 

'  With  talk  of  various  kinds  beguiled  the  way,' — 
it  is  long  since  I  found  the  road  so  short.1' 

They  entered  the  cottage ;  Mabel  was  not  so  ill  as 
her  son's  affectionate  fears  had  represented,  for  it  was 
he  who  had  gone  to  let  Miss  Ackland  know  the 
change  that  had  taken  place.  She  was  already  reco- 
vering from  the  death-like  swoon  that  had  so  alarmed 
her  relatives,  and  Miss  Ackland  had  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  her  restored  to  consciousness,  and  likely  to 
improve  before  she  left  the  cottage. 

"I'll  not  die  yit  awhile,  Miss  Lyddy!"  were  the 
old  woman's  parting  words;  "111  live,  plaze  God,  to 
see  something  turn  up  for  you,  asthore  /" 

With  a  kind  but  incredulous  smile  Miss  Ackland 
left  her  faithful  follower. 


CHAPTER  Xin. 

Contrary  to  Rose's  expectation,  Giacomo  came 
next  evening  punctual  to  his  appointment,  with  no 
perceptible  difference  in  his  manner,  yet  she  could 
see  that  he  addressed  more  of  his  conversation  than 
usual  to  her  aunt,  and  less  to  herself,  and  was,  more- 
over, a  little  more  ceremonious  than  usual  when  he 
did  speak  to  her.  Nancy's  best  skill  had  been  put 
forth  "  to  have  something  nice  for  tea,"  on  that  par- 
ticular evening,  and  the  meal  was  a  pleasant  one, 
in  that  cheerful  little  room  with  the  slanting  sunbeams 
from  the  window  resting  on  the  table  and  its  equi- 
page, the  quaint  old  garde-vin  that  stood  in  the  far- 
ther corner,  and  the  high  mantel-piece  with  its  old- 
fashioned  china  ornaments,  surmounted  by  a  fine  en- 
graving in  a  heavy  gilt  frame  of  Leonardo  di  Vinci's 
famous  Last  Supper.  Apropos  to  the  engraving,  Gia- 
como told  the  story  of  the  discovery,  by  mere  acci- 
dent, of  that  noble  painting  originally  frescoed  on 
the  walls  of  the  refectory  in  an  Italian  convent  where 
it  had  been  for  ages  concealed  by  a  coat  of  cement 
laid  over  it  by  the  good  monks  to  protect  it  from 
some  expected  foreign  invasion ;  its  very  existence 
was  forgotten, — at  least  its  whereabouts,  for  the 
painting  of  such  a  work  by  so  great  a  master  as  Di 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.        227 

Vinci  was,  of  course,  on  record,  in  the  traditional  his- 
tory of  art. 

"I  was  so  fortunate  since  my  return  to  Italy," 
said  he,  "  as  to  be  able  to  visit  the  native  place  of 
the  divine  Raffaelo,  away  amongst  the  purple  hills 
of  Umbria,  just  the  place  to  inspire  a  poet-painter  ; 
I  visited  Rome  at  the  same  time,  and  by  the  way, 
Miss  Ackland,  what  discovery  do  you  think  I  made 
while  there?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  camot  tell ;  I  know  so  little  of  the 
Eternal  City,  except  from  the  descriptions  of  ordi- 
nary travellers,*  and  they,  I  know,  are  not  always,  in- 
deed, scarcely  ever,  reliable." 

"  Well !  apart  from  things  of  greater  interest  and 
importance,  I  have  traced  the  origin  of  your  old  Christ- 
mas waits  to  Rome." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  then  heard  for  the  first  time  of  a  band  of 
peasants  who  descend  from  their  mountains  every 
year  about  the  Feast  of  the  Immaculate  Conception, 
to  usher  in  the  joyous  Christmas  time,  and  to  delight 
the  Romans  with  their  sweet  and  simple  lays,  chiefly 
in  honor  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  I  have  heard  it  said 
many  times  during  my  short  stay  in  Rome  that  their 
music  is  of  the  sweetest,  and  gives  greater  pleasure 

*It  will  be  remembered  that  all  our  best  Catholic  works 
on  modern  Rome,  boih  in  French  and  English,  and  even  in 
Italian,  have  appeared  since  the  dale  of  this  story.  Amongst 
the  English  we  may  reckon  Maguire's  "  Rome  and  its  Ruler," 
Bad  Nelligan's  "  Rome  and  its  Institutions." 


228  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE. 

to  those  who  hear  it  than  the  most  artistic  perform- 
ances.  Their  instruments  are  few  and  simple,  such  as 
shepherds'  pipes,  and  the  like,  but  it  is  the  very  simpli- 
city of  the  music  that  constitutes  its  greatest  charm ; 
that  and  the  devotion  to  the  Madonna  which,  ani- 
mating the  hearts  of  those  pious  mountaineers,  gives 
touching  expression  to  their  rustic  lays." 

"  But  our  ivaits  do  not  sing  hymns  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin,"  said  Rose ;  "  they  don't  sing  anything,  you 
know, — but  the  airs  they  play,  even,  are  not  of  a  re- 
ligious character." 

"  I  know  that  from  my  own  experience,  Miss  Rose, 
but,  nevertheless,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  the  custom  was 
at  first  a  religious  one,  and  I  assure  you  I  was  agree- 
ably surprised  to  find  something  so  very  much  like 
it  existing  in  Rome." 

"  I  wonder  could  you  find  in  Rome,"  said  Rose 
with  her  characteristic  archness,  "  anything  like  our 
Shrovetide  mummers  ?" 

"  What  do  they  do  ?" 

"  Why,  they  dress  up  in  the  most  ridiculous  and 
fantastic  costumes,  for  the  most  part  representing 
municipal  dignitaries,  with  the  Lord  Mayor  at  the 
head  of  the  procession,  mounted  on  an  ass,  a  string 
of  potatoes  hanging  from  his  neck  by  way  of  gold 
chain,  and  in  his  hand  a  long  pole  with  a  bladder  on 
the  top,  which  his  lordship  amuses  himself  by  dab- 
bling in  the  mud  from  time  to  time,  and  shaking  it 
over  the  heads  of  the  passers-by,  to  the  great  delight 
of  ths  noisy  ragamuffins  who  form  his  guard  of  honor 


THE  GLT,  wise  by  the  boyne.  229 

wo  be  to  the  showily  or  pretentiously  dressed  female 
who  is  unlucky  enough  to  meet  the  mummers,  her 
fine  d  re^s  is  sure  to  be  none  the  better  for  it,  for  his 
worsb'.p,  the  chief  mummer,  is  sure  to  direct  his  at- 
tention towards  b-er.  Then  his  lordship  rides  into 
shops,  hotel-halla,  and  such  like,  to  collect  his  tribute, 
and  ill  they  far  a  who  refuse  to  pay  it." 

"  Why,  that  j3  plainly  from  us,  too,"  said  Giacomo  ; 
"  those  are  prf  cisely  the  sports  of  our  Italian  Carni- 
val. The  d//erence  is  that  we  have  innumerable 
others,  svhe/ffti  you  here  seem  to  retain  but  that  one 
of  our  3h'<v/?tide  sports." 

"  Yor.  ,vn  find  no  religious  origin  for  that,  can 
you  ?"  :p  /:e  archly  than  before. 

"  WelJ  ?  of  course  not,  but  still  it  is  an  old  Catholic 
custom,  indicating  the  approach  of  the  penitential 
season,  when  all  public  amusements  are  suspended." 

"  That  is  so  true,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  "  that  I  be- 
lieve it  is  only  in  one  or  two  other  towns  or  cities  of 
Ireland  that  the  custom  is  still  observed ;  these,  of 
course,  are  the  most  thoroughly  Catholic — in  all  the 
other  localities  the  Shrovetide  mummeries  have  long 
since  fallen  into  disuse,  and  been  forgotten.  But  I 
see  you  have  finished  your  tea,  Giacomo,  had  we  not 
better  set  out  tit  once,  the  sun  will  soon  go  down  ?" 

"  The  very  thing  I  was  wishing  for,  Miss  Ackland  ! 
we  shall  lose  the  finest  of  the  evening,  if  we  delay 
much  longer." 

Some  twenty  minutes1  walk  brought  tbein  to  tha 
romantic  heights  of  Rathmullen,  with  the  road  cross* 


230  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

ing  the  top  of  the  hold  hluff,  winding  away  around 
the  hill-side,  disappearing  ever  from  the  view  under 
the  dense  shade  of  overarching  beeches,  elms,  and 
sycamores  ;  the  sun  streamed  down  all  goldenly 
through  the  tangled  branches,  forming  a  net-work  of 
yellow  light  on  the  well-paved  road  beneath,  with  its 
grass-fringed  sidewalks,  and  its  hawthorn  hedges,  all 
blooming  then  in  their  summer  garb  of  white,  and 
filling  the  air  with  their  delicious  fragrance.  The  sun 
was  setting  in  the  crimson  west  far  over  the  sea,  and 
the  wal  ers  far  and  near,  the  sea  and  the  river,  were 
tinged  with  the  same  roseate  hue. 

Never  did  Ariel's  plume, 
At  golden  sunset  hover, 

O'er  scenes  of  richer  bloom 
than  those  which  lay  beneath  that  evening  sky  from 
the  storied  heights  of  Oldbridge,  and  its  graceful 
commemorative  Obelisk,  to  the  Boyne's  mouth  at  Bet- 
tystown,  with  the  ancient  and.  picturesque  town  be- 
tween, girt  round,  as  it  were,  with  mouldering  lelics 
of  the  past. 

"And  this,"  said  Giacomo,  "  is  the  Rathmullen 
Road,"  as  he  turned  to  take  a  parting  glance  at  the 
near  surroundings  and  the  far  prospects.  "  What  a 
lovely  spot  it  is,  this  green  quiet  nook,  so  high  above 
the  river,  and  commanding  such  a  view  !  Truly  ex- 
istence might  glide  smoothly  away  amid  such  scenes 
as  these.  How  my  father  would  appreciate  this  !— 
But,"  he  added  musingly,  "  it  is  more  than  probable 
that  he  has  seen  it." 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOTNE.  231 

"  Has  your  father,  then,  been  in  Drogheda  ?"  asked 
Miss  Ackland,  stooping  to  pick  up  something  from 
the  grass  at  her  feet. 

"  What  have  you  got  there,  aunt  ?"  said  Rose  in  her 
girlish  way. 

"  A  four-leaved  shamrock,  my  dear  !" 

"  Oh  !  give  it  to  me,  give  it  to  me,"  cried  Rose 
clapping  her  hands. 

"Nay,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  in  a  jesting  way,  "I 
cannot  afford  to  give  away  my  luck.  If  I  did,  you 
know  I  might  forfeit  the  favor  of  some  benignant 
fairy." 

Giacomo  looked  puzzled,  whereupon  Miss  Ackland 
explained  to  him  the  popular  superstition  concerning 
the  four-leaved  shamrock,  promising  that  she  or  Rose 
would  sing  for  him,  perhaps,  that  evening,  Lover's 
beautiful  ballad  of  that  name,  one  of  the  songs  of  the 
superstitions  of  Ireland — 

"  I'll  seek  a  four-leaved  Shamrock, 
In  every  fairy  dell," 

hummed  Rose,  catching  the  word,  and  she  would 
probably  have  continued  the  song,  being  bent,  it 
would  seem,  on  showing  just  then  the  greatest  amount 
of  careless  ease,  but  all  at  once,  she  stopped  short, 
and  said — 

11  Oh  aunt !   do  look  !  why,  there  is  Major  Melville  !" 
And  so  it  was  the  Major  himself  and  alone,  walk- 
ing slowly  with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  and  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  ground  like  one  whose  thoughts 
were  of  engrossing  interest. 


232  THE    OLD    nOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

He  started  on  seeing  the  party,  and  contrary  to 
Miss  Ackland's  expectation,  raised  his  cap  as  they 
passed.  His  eye  rested  for  a  moment  on  Miss  Ack- 
land with  a  sort  of  keen  scrutiny,  then  turned  to  the 
young  man  on  whose  arm  she  leaned,  and  the  one 
who  watched  him  understanding^  either  saw,  or 
thought  she  saw  a  strange  intensity  in  that  moment- 
ary glance,  as  though  he  would  fain  have  looked 
longer.  Giacomo  had  caught  the  glance,  and  he  said 
when  the  officer  was  out  of  hearing — , 

"And  that  is  Major  Melville;  I  wonder  why  he 
looks  so  earnestly  at  me."  Then  he  thought  of  Rose, 
and  her  admiration  of  the  Major,  which,  from  all  he 
had  heard,  might  well  be  mutual. 

"Because  he  sees  you  are  a  foreigner,"  suggested 
Miss  Ackland,  giving  the  only  probable  reason  she 
could  think  of.  Rose  smiled  but  she  said  nothing ; 
whatever  her  thoughts  were  she  kept  them  to  herself. 
Miss  Ackland's  reason  seemed  to  satisfy  Giacomo 
in  a  matter  of  so  little  importance,  and  he  dismissed, 
or  appeared  to  dismiss,  the  matter  from  his  mind. 
Having  accompanied  the  ladies  home  he  bade  them 
good-bye  at  the  door,  declining  Miss  Ackland's  invi- 
tation to  go  in. 

"  I  am  leaving  town  early  to-morrow,"   said   he, 
''  and  I  shall  not  see  you  for  some  days." 

"  May  I  ask  where  you  are  going  to  ?"  said  Miss 
Ackland. 

"  Certainly ;  I  have  been  often  asked  by  Mr.  Cal 
linan  to  go  with  him  the  next  time  he  visits  his  her- 


THE    OLD    II    USE    BY    THE    BOYNL.  233 

riog-fishery  on  the  coast  of  Scotland,  and  as  he  goes 
(o-morrow  I  think  of  going  with  him;  not  that  I  ex- 
pect much  from  the  excursion,  but,  as  I  have  never 
seen  an}'  part  of  Scotland,  I  may  as  well  take  this  op- 
portunity of  having  a  glimpse  of  it." 

"And  I  know  you  will  be  pleased  that  you  went," 
said  Miss  Ackland  ;  "  thnse  fisheries  are  on  the  Locha- 
ber  coast  in  the  wildest  region  of  the  Highlands.  I 
know  Mr.  Callinan  usually  starts  early  when  he  goes, 
so  I  shall  not  insist  on  your  remaining  this  evening; — 
expecting,  however,  to  see  you  very  soon  after  your 
return." 

He  promised  with  all  good  will,  and  then  com- 
menced his  descent  of  the  long  flight  of  steps  with 
the  lightness  and  agility  of  youth;  the  ladies  watched 
him  in  silence  till  he  turned  at  the  gate  below  and 
waved  a  smiling  farewell,  then  disappeared  behind 
the  high  wall  that  skirted  the  road. 

"Aunt,"  said  Rose,  in  a  way  half  jest,  half  earnest, 
as  they  walked  to  and  fro  on  the  esplanade  in  the 
darkening  twilight,  while  the  stars  came  peeping 
through  the  blue  in  the  depths  above,  "Aunt,  did  you 
observe  what  a  thoughtful  anxious  look  Major  Mel- 
ville had  that  time  when  we  met  him,  and  how  sharply 
he  looked  at  you  and  Giacomo  ?" 

"  If  /  didn't  observe  it,"  said  Miss  Ackland  smil- 
ing, ;i  I  see  you  did,  ma  chcre  petite  Rose  /" 

"  And  he  saluted  you  very  graciously !  I  could 
scarce  believe  my  eyes  after  what  you  told  me  of  his 
manner  of  speaking  to  you  at  your  last  meeting.1' 


134:  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

"  At  our  only  meeting;  I  hail  never  seen  Guy— I 
mi  an  Major  Melville — before  that  evening." 

"  It  was  all  along  of  the  four-leaved  shamrock, 
aunt,"  said  Rosa  with  her  arch  smile.  "  Who  knows 
what  form  your  luck  may  take  ?  Ileigho !  I  wish  / 
could  find  a  four-leaved  shamrock,  or  some  other  to- 
ken of  good  luck !"  And  she  sighed  with  such  a 
co  nical  look  of  doleful  despondency  that  her  aunt 
could  not  help  laughing. 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear,  we  shall,  at  worst,  find 
'  luck'  for  you  at  Painstown  with  worthy  Mr.  Led- 
wich,  or  nearer  home  with  our  friend  Harry  Cu- 
sack.'' 

"  Yes,  by  way  of  dernier  ressort — many  thanks, 
Aunt  Lydia,  but  I  could  not  think  of  depriving  you 
of  either  of  two  such  constant  swains  who,  to  my 
knowledge,  have  been  bowing  full  fifteen  years  before 
your  ladyship,  like  yrung  Edwin  in  Goldsmith's  bal- 
lad, though,  like  him,  they  'never  talk  of  love.'  " 

"  Fie,  fie,  Rose  !  you  cannot,  I  am  sure,  longer  mis- 
take the  nature  or  the  object  of  Cusack's  attentions. 
Harry  has  little  taste  for  ancient  maidens  of  such  very 
mature  years  as  mine.  Come,  let  us  go  in, — it  wears 
late,  and  the  dew  is  falling." 

A  week  or  so  had  passed  before  Giacomo  again 
made  his  appearance,  and  then  he  was  so  full  of  what 
he  had  seen  and  heard  that  for  some  days  he  could 
speak  of  nothing  but  the  wild  grandeur  of  the  scenes 
amid  which  he  had  been  sojourning,  so  different  from 
anything  he  had  ever  seen  before.     He  would  have 


THE  0*-D  COUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         235 

come  all  the  way  from  Leghorn,  he  said,  and  farther 
still,  to  stand  on  one  of  those  steep  hill-sides,  "  Among 
the    Highland   heather,"   to  inhale   those   mountain- 
breezes,  and  lojk  forth  over  the  waste  of  waters  from 
the  dizzy  height  where  the  eagle  sheltered  her  young 
far  up  in  the  voiceless  solitude.     He  had  lodged  with 
his  friend  in  the  cottage  of  one  of  the  fishermen,  and 
had  heard  with  delight,  by  the  evening  fire,  the  wild 
superstitions  of  those  Scottish  Gael,  there  of  a  wilder 
character  still,  from  the  sea-faring  habits  of  the  peo- 
ple.    Marvellous  tales  of  second-sight  had  he  heard, 
and  ghost  stories  that  made  the  blood  curdle  in  one's 
veins,  and  of  shapes  that  fashioned  themselves  from 
the  gray  mountain-mists  to   w  arn  those  simple  chil- 
dren of  the  Gael  of  impending  death  or  doom ;  of 
maidens  white  and  fair,  but  with  neither  flesh,  nor 
blood,  nor  bone,  who  appeared  at  the  prow  of  the 
lonely  corrie,  to  apprise  the  fisherman  of  danger   at 
hand.     Then  there  were  legends  of  faithful  love,  and 
dark  revenge,  and  wild  adventure,  and  all  the  many 
forms  that  romance  is  likely  to  assume  am^gst  sea- 
coast  mountaineers. 

"  And  then  the  '  bonnie  Jeans'  of  IligVJrmd  song," 
said  Rose  with  her  characteristic  smile ;  "  who  has  not 
heard  of  Lochaber  in  connection  with  a  certain  rustic 
fair  one,  the  beloved  of  some  '  Highland  laddie'  who 
went  like  that  other  famed  in  Scottish  song  '  to  fight 
the  French'  or  some  other  foieign  foe,  'for  King 
George  upon  his  throne  ?'  " 

*'  I,  for  one,  never  heard  of  either,"  said  Gia^nio 


236  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

"  What !  you  have  never  heard  either  '  Farewell  to 
Lochaber,'  or  '  The  Blue  Bells  of  Scotland  ?'  " 

Giacorno  shook  bis  head. 

"Then  you  have  heard  little  of  Scottish  minstrelsy, 
my  aunt  will  tell  you  about  the  best  of  its  kind  in 
Europe.  But  if  I  had  known  you  had  never  heard 
1  Lochaber'  you  should  have  gone  there  with  that 
sweetest  and  most  touching  of  airs  echoing  in  your 
heart,  and  mingling  with  the  breezes  that  sweep  those 
heathery  hills." 

"  Is  it  so  very  beautiful,  then  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  even  more  so ;  you  should  hear  my  aunt 
sing  it — then  you  can  judge  of  the  spirit  that  breathes 
in  it.  Aunt  Lydia,  won't  you  sing  l  Lochaber'  for 
Signor  Giacorno  ?" 

"  Not  now,  Rose,  not  now — some  other  time,"  said 
her  aunt  hastily;  then  she  went  on  with  the  same 
rapid  utterance,  as  if  to  get  through  with  the  sub- 
ject as  soon  as  might  be — "  the  air  is  a  very  sweet 
one,  touching  some  of  the  tenderest  chords  of  the 
heart,  but  you  must  not  call  it  a  Scotch  air." 

"  No ;  and  why  not,  Aunt  Lydia  ?" 

"  Because,  it  is  one  of  those  airs  the  origin  of 
which  we  Irish  dispute  with  the  Scotch.  Moore  was 
so  certain  of  its  being  Irish  that  he  has  introduced  it 
amongst  his  Irish  Melodies,  with  one  of  his  most 
beautiful  songs — l  When  cold  in  the  earth  lies  the 
friend  thou  hast  loved.'' " 

"Oh!  I  know  that  well,"  said  Giacorno,  >l  I  h&ve 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TIIE    BOYNE.  237 

heard  my  father  sing  it  many  a  time,  at  least  snatches 
of  it ;  I  remember  these  words  particularly — 

'From  thee  and  thy  innocent  beauty  first  came, 

The  reveaiings  that  taught  him  true  love  to  adcre — 
To  feel  thy  bright  presence  and  turn  bim  with  shame, 
From  the  id.  Is  he  blindly  had  knelt  to  b.  tore.' 

So  that  air  is  the  ^ame  as  the  ,  Lochaber'  of  which 
Miss  Rose  speaks?" 

"  The  very  same.  Moore  says  of  it,  in  one  of  the 
notes  to  his  Melodies,  that  the  old  Irish  name  of  it 
was  '  The  Lamentation  of  Aughrim.'  " 

"  But,  Aunt  Lydia,  how  does  he  account  for  its 
being  so  long  and  we'd  known  in  the  Highlands  as  an 
old  Scottish  air  ?" 

"  Simply  by  the  fact  that  it  was  introduced  into 
the  Highlands  by  Lawrence  O'Connellan,  an  Irish 
harper,  brother  of  the  composer.  It  may,  after  all, 
be  considered  an  old  Scottish  air,  for  it  has  been 
common  amongst  the  Scottish  Gael  for  over  two 
hundred  years." 

"  So  it  was  composed  by  O'Connellan  ?"  said  Rose 
musingly;  she  was  but  half  faniTar  with  the  name. 

"You  seem  to  have  forgotten,  Rose,"  said  Miss 
#  Ackland,  "  what  quite  took  your  llmcy  at  the  time, 
those  fine  verses  we  once  read  together  on  '  O'Con- 
nellan's  Harp,'  beginning — 

1  Harp  so  lov'd  in  days  of  old, 
Unhonor'd  now, 
The  hand  that  swept  thy  strings  is  cold, 

And  tuneless  now.'  "  i 


238  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TIIE    BOYNE. 

"  Oh  !  yes,  I  remember  now,"  said  Rose,  in  hei 
eager,  girlish  way;  "how  could  I  forget  the  name 
and  the  resting-place  of  the  bard  ?  '  And  she  repeated 
Dne  whole  stanza  of  the  poem — 

"  By  Lough  Gar's  waters,  lone,  and  low, 
The  minstrel's  laid, — 
Where  mould'ring  cloisters  dimly  throw 

Sepulchral  shade  ^ — 
Where  clustering  ivy  darkly  weeps 

Upon  his  bed, 
To  biot  the  legend  where  he  sleeps, 
The  tuneful  drad  !" 
"'  And  you  also  remember  those  fine  verses  trans 
Uud  from  the  Irish — I  think  by  Ferguson — apostro 
pldzing  the  minstrel,  and  commencing  thus — 

'  Enchanter  who  reignest 

Supreme  o'er  the  North, 
Who  hast  wiled  the  coy  spirit 

Of  true  music  forth  ; 
In  vain  Europe's  minstrels 

To  honor  aspire, 
When  thy  swift  slender  fingers 

Go  forth  on  the  lyre.' 

How  beutiful  are  the  last  lines: 

'  Who  hear  thee  ihry  praise  thee ; 

Tht-y  weep  while  they  praise  ;  ' 

For,  charmer,  from  Fairyland, 
Fresh  are  thy  lays  !'  " 

"  BeautifvjJ,  indeed,''  said  Giacomo ;  "  I  should  like 
to  have  heard  some  of  those  old  Irish  harpers — Car- 
olan,  of  whom  I  have  so  cflen  heard  you  speak,  Miss 
Ackland, — or  that  O'^Neil,  of  whom  your  poor  father 


THE    OLD    IIOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  239 

told  ils  so  much  one  evening,  sitting  in  this  very 
room.'' 

"  And  less  than  a  year  ago  V  said  Miss  Ackland 
sadly,  as  she  cast  her  tearful  eyes  over  the  smiling 
prospect  that  lay  spread  without,  Silence  fell  on  all, 
the  silence  of  tender  recollection;  alight  wind  played 
in  the  clustering  vines  about  tlu  open  window;  the 
breath  of  the  jasmine  and  clematis  was  wafted 
fresh  and  balmy  into  the  room, — beautiful  and  touch- 
ing emblem  of  the  odor  of  sweetness  which  the  good 
leave  on  earth  behind  them  when  they  have  passed  to 
the  spirit-land  S 

Rose  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence,  evidently 
with  the  intention  of  diverting  her  aunt  from  her 
gloomy  thoughts — "  What  were  we  talking  of  before 
we  turned  off,  by  way  of  digression,  to  Scotch  airs 
and  Irish  harpers? — oh!  the  Highlands,  and  Lochaber, 
to  be  sure — well,  really,  Signor,  I  never  thought  you 
had  so  much  enthusiasm  as  I  see  you  have — it  is  quite 
refreshing  to  hear  you  talk  of  those  wild  scenes  and 
wild  people  ! — I  don't  know  but  I  shall  pay  them  a  visit 
myself  some  day — that  is  if  anybody  will  be  so  kind 
as  to  take  me  ?"  Then  she  sang  in  her  real  or  affected 
exuberance  of  feeling, — 

"Hurrah  for  ihe  Highlands,  the  stern  Scottish  Highlands, 
The  home  of  the  clansman,  ihe  brave  and  ihe  free, 
Where  the  clouds  love  to  r<  st  o'er  the  mountain's  rough  breast. 
E'er  they  journ  y  afar  o'er  the  islandless  sea  !" 

"Well  done,  Miss  Rose  "  said  a  cheery,  but  not 
over  sweet  voice  without;  "  I  give  you  my  word,  I 


240         THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNB. 

couldn't  do  it  better  myself!"  And  Harry  Cusack 
made  bis  appearance  at  the  open  window,  raising  bis 
hat  politely  to  tbe  ladies,  nodding  stiffly  to  their 
companion. 

"  You  !"  said  Rose,  c<  why  you  have  no  more  voice 
than  a  jack-daw  !" 

"  Who  said  I  bad  ?"  was  tbe  good-humored  answer 
"  didn't  I  say  I  couldn't  do  it  better  myself?  But 
who's  for  a  drive  this  fine  evening  ?  It's  a  pity  to  be 
in  tbe  house,  so  I  thought  I'd  come  and  see  if  you 
ladies  wouldn't  like  a  moonlight  drive  by  the  rivei 
side." 

u  Oh  !  you  dear  Harry  Cusack,  the  very  thing  we 
would  like  !"  said  Rose  clapping  her  hands ;  "  of  course 
you  will  come,  Signor  ?"  turning  to  Giacomo, 

"  Thank  you,"  he  replied  with  icy  coldness,  "  I  pro- 
mised to  drop  in  this  evening  at  Mr.  Brodigan's ;  I 
should  have  been  there  before  now." 

"  Could  you  not  postpone  your  visit  till  to-morrow 
evening,  and  come  with  us  ?"  Miss  Ackland  inquired ; 
she  looked  at  Cusack,  so  did  Giacomo,  but  Cusack 
was  looking  another  wiy,  and  Miss  Ackland  had  too 
much  tact  to  renew  an  invitation  which  ought  to 
come  from  another.  Giacomo  hurried  away,  anxious, 
as  h3  said,  to  keep  his  appointment,  and  Rose  made 
no  effort  to  detain  him;  wishing  him,  on  the  contrary, 
a  very  pleasant  evening. 

"'You  might  have  had  the  politeness  to  ask  the 
Signor,  too,"  said  Rose  somewhat  pettishly,  as  sh« 
helped  her  aunt  to  "  wrap  up." 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOTNE.  241 

"  I've  got  my  horse  to  think  of,  Miss  Rose !" 

"I  vow  you're  as  gruff  as  a  bear." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  Miss  Rose  !  Allow  me  to  put 
on  your  shawl !" 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  I  have  it  on !  But,  do  you 
know,  Mr.  Harry  Cusack,  I  have  half  a  mind  not  to 
go,  when  you  are  so  fearful  of  overloading  your 
horse,  you  know !"  And  she  stood  swinging  her 
bonnet  by  the  ties,  as  if  irresolute. 

"Fie,  fie,  Rose!"  said  her  aunt;  "how  childishly 
you  talk !  Put  on  your  bonnet,  and  let  us  go !" 
Rose  left  the  room.  "  I  wonder,  Mr.  Cusack,  wil1 
Rose  ever  learn  to  control  her  tongue  ?" 

"  That  depends,"  said  Cusack,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders as  naturally  as  though  he  were  a  born  French- 
man. "  Are  you  ready  now,  ladies  ?"  As  Rose  trip- 
ped in,  shawled  and  bonnetted,  looking  so  pretty  that 
even  her  aunt  could  not  help  noticing  it,  to  herself, 
of  course, — she  was  ever  chary  of  compliments,  espe- 
cially to  her  niece. 

"  This  is  very  pleasant,"  said  Rose,  as  having  de- 
scended the  steps  to  the  lower  road,  they  found  the 
car  waiting,  and  started  at  a  brisk  trot  along  the 
white  smooth  road,  running  close  by  the  river-side. 
"  This  is  very  pleasant,  if  none  of  the  dead  are  walk- 
ing abroad  in  the  moonlight.  Suppose,  now,  we 
were  to  meet  Tom  Cullen,  the  cooper !" 

"  Oh !  you  shocking  girl,  what  ideas  come  into  your 
head !" 

u  Very  shocking,  I  know,  Aunt  Lydia  !  but  very 


242  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

natural,  when  one  is  out  at  night  on  the  Boyne  sida 
Mr.  Cusaek!"  turning  to  that  gentleman  who  sat,  dos- 
a-dos,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  car,  "  did  you  ever 
see  Tom  Cullen,  tlie  cooper  ?" 

"  I  can't  say  I  did,  Miss  Rose,  and  I  hope  I'll  be 
longer  so  ! — drive  on  faster,  Ned  !"  to  his  man.  The 
subject  was  not  to  Mr   Cusack's  liking,  it  was  plain,  f 

"  I  wonder  is  it  true  that  so  many  people  have  seen 
that  most  unlucky  of  coopers,''  went  on  Rose ;  "  the 
steps  on  which  they  say  he  stands  ought  to  be  some- 
where about  here.  No,  I  believe  they  are  farther  up 
towards  the  bridge  Dear  me  !  what  a  thing  it  must 
be  for  any  one  going  up  or  down  to  see  him  standing 
at  a  turn  of  the  steps,  where  they  can't  avoid  passing 
him,  without  stepping  into  the  river.  A  nice  dilem- 
ma, that,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Cusaek?' 

"  Ye-es  ! — nice,  indeed,  but  not  over  pleasant !  — 
shall  wTe  take  the  Bait  ray  road,  Miss  Ackland  ?" 

('  As  you  please,  Mr  Cusaek  ! — we  have  no  choice  !" 
ind  Miss  Ackland,  dropping  her  voice  to  a  whisper, 
begged  Rose  to  let  Tom  Cullen  rest  in  peace,  and  if 
she  must  talk,  to  choose  some  other  subject. 

Rose  promised  with  a  smile  of  doubtful  meaning, 
and  she  kept  silent  for  a  while,  but  all  at  once,  she 
said :  "  Mr.  Cusaek  !  did  you  ever  see  the  headless 
woman  in  white  that  is  said  to  walk  this  road  by 
night  ?" 

"  An'  sure  if  she  didn't  walk  by  night,  Miss,  it 
isn't  by  day  she'd  walk !''  put  in  Ned  from  his  perch 
in  front,  looking  round  with  so  knowing  a  look  on 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE 


24b 


his  face  that  it  seemed  as  though  he  thoroughly  un- 
derstood, and  sufficiently  enjoyed  the  young  lady's 
persistent  efforts  to  u  make  night  hideous." 

"  Don't  speak  till  you're  spoken  to  !"  said  his  mas- 
ter sharply,  then  answered  Rose's  question  in  the 
negative. 

"  Nor  the  big  black  dog  with  fiery  eyes  ?" 

Oli !  the  villain  o'  the  world  !"  ejaculated  Ned,  low 
and  slow,  "  sure  he  most  put  the  life  out  o'  me  one 
night  last  w hither  !" 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  not  to  put  in  your  tongue,  yoi 
blockhead  ?"  said  the  master  still  more  sharply  than 
before. 

"  Sure  I  know  you  did,  sir,'  but  I  thought  it  was  no 
harm  to  answer  the  young  lady's  question,  as  I  had 
seen  the  dog,  an'  I  thought  maybe  you  hadn't,  Mr. 
Cusack !" 

"It  was  a  harm,  then;  see  that  you  don't  do  it 


again  '" 


"  Sure  I  wont, sir;  I'd  be  long  sorry  when  you onst 
forbid  me." 

Ned  was  silenced,  but  not  so  Rose,  for  the  more 
she  saw  it  annoyed  poor  Cusack,  the  more  she  kept 
on  talking  of  all  the  ghosts  whose  "  locid  habitation'' 
was  anywhere  in  that  vicinity,  for,  thanks  to  Nancy's 
Btory-telling  propensities,  and  her  own  fondness  (as  a 
chfcd)  for  ghost-stories,  she  knew  them  all.  In  vain 
did  her  aunt  endeavor  many  times  to  change  the 
subject  of  conversation;  still  the  wayward  girl  re- 
turned to  the  same  dismal  themes,  always  addressing 


244  THE    OLD    HOUrii    ".  '.    THE    BOYNE. 

her  discourse  to  Mr.  Ccfl«*<k,  and  winding  up  by  say- 
ing with  sly  meaning  when  he  handed  her  down  at 
the  gate  on  their  retarn — 

1  /  hope  you  enjoyed  the  di  ive,  Mr.  Cusack  ? — I  did 
amazingly  !"  He  mattered  something,  and  bidding 
Miss  Ackiand  "  good  night,"  stepped  on  his  car,  and 
told  Ned  to  drive  on,  without  so  much  as  looking  at 
Rose. 

"  Serve  you  right !"  said  her  aunt,  as  they  ascended 
the  steps  together. 

"  Serve  him  right !"  and  Rose  laughed  merrily,  "he 
was  go  rude  to  Signor  Giacomo  !" 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

It  was  St.  John's  Eve,  and  the  bonfires  were  blaz- 
ing in  the  streets  of  the  old  borough,  shedding  a 
reddish  light  on  the  dark  walls,  and  sharp  angles,  and 
irregular  outlines  of  the  quaint  old-time  fabrics,  and 
giving  to  all  that  picturesque  character  which  broad 
light  and  deep  shadow  alternating  are  sure  to  pro- 
duce. Every  eminence  the  country  over  sent  up  its 
cheerful  glow  to  the  blue  mid-summer  sky,  and  all 
along  the  river  side  were  seen  at  short  intervals,  the 
merry  groups  of  the  young  dancing  around  the  sym- 
bol-fires, which  their  fathers  lit  of  old  in  honor  of 
their  god  Baal,  and  which  they,  of  more  favored 
times,  made  commemorative  of  the  3'gbt  of  Chris- 
tianity happily  shed  over  the  island  m  .'.fter-times. 

The  evening  was  beautiful,  apart  farv)  the  joyous 
celebration,  and  Miss  Ackland  propo/r/d  to  Rose  and 
Giacomo,  who  had  taken  tea  with  Mem,  that  they 
should  go  down  and  have  a  walk  I  y  the  river  side. 
The  young  people  were  delighted  with  the  proposal, 
and  they  all  three  sallied  forth,  leaving  Nancy  sitting 
on  the  door-step  under  the  deep  por/;h,  watching  with 
much  interest  the  fires  that  shot  up  here  zj\<{  ihere  in 
quick  succession,  flashing  out  through  the  Opening 
gloom  of  twilight. 


246  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

After  a  pleasant  walk  along  the  river  road,  paus- 
ing occasionally  to  watch  the  dancers  who  were  foot- 
ing it  merrily  round  some  of  the  fires  to  the  sound 
of  pipes  or  violin,  our  little  party  returned  home, 
with  the  addition  of  Harry  Cusack  and  Mr.  Brodi- 
gan  who  had  joined  them  on  the  way.  To  those 
who  understood  the  reason,  it  was  amusing  to  see 
how  studiously  the  former  gentleman  avoided  Rose 
whilst  they  were  out  of  doors,  and  Mr.  Brodigan, 
not  understanding  it,  began  to  twit  him  with  his  want 
of  gallantry. 

"  When  I  was  a  young  man,  Harry !"  said  he, 
"  it  isn't  a  pair  of  black  eyes  that  would  frighten 
me!" 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  say,  Mr.  Brodigan,  that 
eyes  black  or  blue  frighten  Mr.  Cusack?"  said  Rose 
with  a  mischievous  glance  at  the  latter. 

"  Well !  I  declare  it  looks  like  it,"  said  honest  Mr. 
Brodigan ;  "  I  never  saw  Harry  so  backward  before 
in  regard  to  the  ladies.  I'm  afraid  some  of  you  have 
been  trying  his  patience  overmuch." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  Mr.  Brodigan  !"  responded  Rose 
quickly ;  "  you  know  my  aunt  never  tries  anybody's 
patience,  so  there  would  be  nobody  here  to  do  such  a 
na  ighty  thing  only  me,  and  Mr.  Cusack  knows  him- 
self what  pains  /  took  to  keep  him  in  good  spirits 
and  in  good  humor  the  last  time  we  saw  him.  Didn't 
I,  Harry  ?" 

A  grim  and  somewhat  woe-begone  smile  was 
Harry's  answer;  he  coughed  slightly,  and  then,  with 


the  old  house  by  the  boyne.  247 

a  sudden  flush,  glanced  at  Giacomo,  as  though  sus 
pecting  that  he  might  have  heard  of  Rose's  experi 
ments  in  the  way  of  keeping  up  his  spirits;  but  Gia- 
como was  talking  to  Miss  Ackland,and  as  Harry  did 
not  chance  to  perceive  the  peculiar  smile  that  curved 
his  lip  at  the  moment,  he  felt  relieved,  and  soon 
glided  back  into  his  old  manner.  But  Rose  was  not 
going  to  let  him  off  so  easily. 

"  Wasn't  it  quite  a  coincidence,"  said  she,  "  Mr. 
Brodigan,  that,  of  all  things  or  people,  who  should 
come  into  my  head  the  other  night,  when  Mr.  Cusack 
was  good  enough  to  take  Aunt  Lydia  and  myself  out 
for  a  drive,  but  Tom  Cullen,  the  cooper,  whose 
troubled  spirit,  you  know,  haunts  the  spot  where  he 
was  murdered  ?  We  were  passing  somewhere  near 
there  at  the  time,  and  nothing  would  serve  the  cooper 
but  he  must  pop  into  my  head  just  when  I  least 
wished  to  see  him  ?      WasrCt  it  a  coincidence  ?" 

"A  disagreeable  one,  I  should  say,"  returned  Mr. 
Brodigan,  sufficiently  acquainted  with  his  friend's 
nocturnal  weakness  regarding  the  inhabitants  of  the 
other  world  to  catch  the  point  of  the  allusion.  "  I'd 
rather  think  of  something  else  were  I  in  your  place 
just  then.  Why  didn't  you  think  of  Harry  Cusack,, 
eh  ? — or  the  Signor,  here,  or  some  other  fine  young 
fellow  ?" 

"  One  of  the  red-coats,"  put  in  Cusack,  determined 
to  give  Rose  tit  for  tat,  as  he  said  to  himself;  "  most 
of  the  young  ladies  hereabouts  would  be  thinking  of 
some  gallant  son  of  Mars  these  times,  who  is  alive 


248  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE. 

and  hearty,  instead  of  a  dead  cooper.  Eh,  Misg 
Rose  ? — don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Decidedly  I  do,  Mr.  Cusack  !  I,  for  one,  love 
the  red-coats  dearly,  and  my  heart  begins  to  beat- 
on  !  ever  so  fast,  when  I  hear  the  drum." 

"  I  guessed  as  much  !" 

"  You  did,  eh  ? — well !  I'm  glad  to  find  you  can 
guess  so  well — now  you  know  how  to  keep  up  my 
spirits,  any  time  you  may  see  them  down  low,  and 
feel  charitably  disposed  to  raise  them.  After  all," 
she  added,  as  if  with  kindling  enthusiasm,  "  there  is  no 
sight  like  a  military  show, — oh  !  I  do  so  love  it !" 
Then  throwing  herself  into  an  attitude,  she  sang  in 
her  gayest  way — 

"  No  music  for  me  like  llie  row-dow-dow, 
And  no  }Tou  h  like  the  Captain  with  smart  cockade." 

"  Yes,  that's  what  comes  of  it !"  said  Cusack  look- 
ing very  grave ;  "  if  young  ladies  will  be  allowed  to 
pick  up  wTith  such  snobs  of  fellows,  and  run  after 
their  fife  and  drum,  they'll  never  be  wrorth  a  pin  to 
themselves  or  any  one  else,  for  they  get  their  heads 
full  of  all  sorts  of  wild,  ridiculous  notions,  and  can't 
settle  their  minds  to  anything  !" 

"Very  true,  Mr.  Cusack!"  said  Miss  Ackland,  sur- 
prised herself  at  what  seemed  the  strange  levity  of 
Rose's  manner,  although  understanding,  or  fancying 
ehe  understood,  her  motive,  but  I  must  beg  that  you 
will  not  judge  Rose  by  her  words ;  you  do  not  sus« 
pect  her"  and  she  smiled,  of  "picking  up,  or  me  of  al- 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNB.         249 

lowing  her  to  pick  np,  with  strangers,  whether  in  red 
or  black  coats,  do  yon  ?" 

"  Oh  !  well,  as  for  that,  Miss  Ackland  !  I  wouldn't 
suspect  you  of  anything  except  what  was  prudent  and 
proper, but  then  the  wisest  in  the  world  can't  always 
have  their  wits  about  them — they're  subject  to  make 
mistakes  as  well  as  others"—  and  he  looked  foil  at 
Giacomo,  who  sat  a  rather  puzzled  listener,- not  know- 
ing exactly  what  to  make  of  the  conversation. 

Miss  Ackland  smiled,  but  she  colored,  too,  and  was 
evidently  a  little  annoyed  ;  but  too  polite  to  seem  to 
take  a  hint  that  she  well  knew  was  meant  for  her,  she^ 
said — 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Cusack,  we  had  better  change  the 
subject  of  conversation." 

"And  /think  it's  about  time  we  were  going,  Miss 
Lydia,"  said  Mr.  Brodigan  rising;  "what  with  the 
ghost  and  the  red-coats,  we  have  had  quite  a  little 
stir  of  it.  Very  pleasant,  and  very  exciting — ha ! 
ha !  I  see  Miss  Rose  is  able  to  hold  her  own  with 
you,  Harry,  my  boy  ?" 

"1  should  think  she  was,r  replied  Cusack  dryly, 
'<  her  tongue  has  quite  a  military  rattle  of  late." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Cusack  !"  said  Rose  with  a  smile 
Mid  a  very  low  curtsey,  "  I  ran  practising  a  la  viili- 
taire,  you  see,  and  it  is  encouraging  to  have  your 
opinion  that  I  succeed  so  well.  Thank  you,  very 
much  !  Should  I  make  up  my  mind  to  try  my  luck 
in  the  Fille  du  Rrgiment,  I  shall  know  where  to  ap- 
ply for  a  reference  as  to  capability." 


Z.'A  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOVNE. 

More  than  ever  bewildered  by  this  sally,  poor 
Cusack  made  no  answer,  though  he  tried  to  echo 
Brodigans  good-humored  laugh  as  they  shook  hands 
with  the  ladies. 

"  Are  we  friends  now,  Mr.  Cusack  ?"  said  Rose 
running  after  him  to  the  parlor-door.  "  I  am  afraid 
you  are  the  least  bit  angry  with  me." 

"  Oh  !  dear  me  !  not  at  all,  Miss  Rose !  why  should 
/  be  angry  ? — I  never  was  in  better  humor  in  my 
life." 

"  I'm  exceedingly  glad  to  hear  it — good  night 
then,  and  once  again  '  good  night.'  Happy  be  your 
dreams — and  not  of  Tom  C  alien"  she  called  after  him 
down  the  steps. 

"  You  are  cruel,  are  you  not?"  whispered  Giacomo, 
as  he  lingered  a  moment  after  saying  "good  night." 

"  Not  at  all — why  do  you  ask  ?" 

"  You  remind  me  of  a  cat  playing  with  the  unfor- 
tunate mouse  it  has  caught,  and  is  ready  to  devour  !" 

Rose's  laugh  rang  out  clear  and  musical,  as  she 
almost  pushed  the  young  man  down  the  steps — "  Get 
you  gone,  Signor !  you  aie  losing  all  the  politeness 
you  ever  had  ! — I  a  cat,  seeking  to  devour  Harry 
Cusack  !— -Mercy  on  us  !  what  an  idea !" 

"  A  very  natural  idea  ! — don't  you  think  so,  Miss 
Ackland  ?" 

"  N"ot  exactly  as  you  take  it,  Giacomo  ! — playing 
with  the  mouse  she  may  be,  this  naughty  kitten  of 
ours,  but  for  any  further  design  on  its  mouse-ship,  I 
think  I  can  acquit  her  of  that  piece  of  cruelty." 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  EOTKE.         251 

"Oh!  pray  don1!  excuse  me,  Aunt  Lydia!  pray 
don't— let  him  think  as  he  likes  of  me,  I  shall  take  the 
Bame  liberty  with  him,  and  think  something  very, 
very  bad  of  him  ?" 

"Very,  very  bad— will  you  ?— how  candid  '.—But 
I  must  hurry  after  the  others— I  should  like  to  Lave 
the  benefit  of  their  company  into  town— as  Miss 
Rose  will  have  us  all  afraid  of  ghosts !"  he  added 
laughing,  as  he  ran  down  the  steps  to  overtake  the 
other  gentlemen.  A  word  reached  his  ear  as  he  left 
the  side  of  Rose  Ackland  that  half  induced  him  to 
turn  back,  but  he  would  not  do  what  he  would  have 
found  it  hard  to  account  for,  so  he  went  on  his  way 
as  before. 

It  was  old  Nancy  that  had  spoken  the  word,  hav- 
ing been  evidently  waiting  for  the  opportunity. 
«  Miss  Ackland  dear  !"  said  she,  "  if  I  hadn't  a  fright 
since!— there  was  an  officer  here  while  you  were 
gone  1"  That  was  all  Giacomo  heard. 
°  "  An  officer !"  cried  both  the  ladies.  "  What  officer  ?n 
"  Och  !  sure  myself  can't  tell  you  that,  but  he  was 
a  fine,  tall,  portly  gentleman,  that  'id  put  you  in  mind, 
Miss  Lyddy,  if  you  seen  him,  of— him,  you  know." 

"  Major  Melville,  I'm  sure  !"  said  Rose  to  her  aunt, 
as  the  latter  sank  trembling  on  the  bench  in  the  porch. 
"Major  Melville!"  repeated  Nancy,  "the  gentle- 
man you  met  by  chance  one  evenin'  in  the  spring,  an' 
that  took  such  a  start  out  of  you  ?  Ah !  then,  I 
wasn't  far  wrong — Im  sure  he's  some  near  relation  01 
the  poor  dear  Captain,  the  darlin'  o'  the  world  he  was !'' 


252  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

"  He  is  his  brother,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  "  his  only 
brother — I  may  as  well  tell  you,  at  once  ! — but  what 
brought  him  here  ? — what  did  he  want  ? — what  did 
he  say  to  you,  Nancy  ?" 

"  Well !  as  for  what  brought  him,  Miss  Lyddy,  I 
can't  take  upon  me  to  say, — I  suppose  if  you  had 
been  in,  he'd  have  tould  you  his  business,  but  he  didn't 
tell  me,  and  for  what  would  he  ?" 

"  But  did  lie  not  speak  to  you?"  asked  Rose,  on  a 
motion  from  her  aunt. 

"  Did  he  spake  to  me,  is  it  ?  Well !  he  did,  an',  in- 
deed, a  fine,  well-spoken  gentleman  he  is,  too ! — he 
asked  me  if  the  old  place  wasn't  for  sale,  an'  when  I 
said  no,  it  wasn't,  he  said  there  was  some  house  about 
here  that  he  was  tould  was  for  sale,  but  he  supposed 
he  had  mistaken  the  place." 

"  So,  then,  he  had  business,  after  all !"  cried  Rose  ; 
"  I  thought  you  said  he  had  none." 

"  Did  I  ?— Well  whether  or  not,  that's  what  he 
said ;  but,  anyhow,  we  had  a  shanachus,  him  an'  me." 

"  You  had  ?"  said  Miss  Ackland,  raising  herself 
from  her  half-recumbent  posture,  "  and  what  about?" 
'He  asked  me  if  any  of  the  family  were  in,  an',  of 
3  jorse,  I  said  no,  but  that  there  wasn't  many  of  them 
;k»w  to  be  ill  or  out,  for  the  Acklands  were  most  all 
^o:ie,  barrin'  two  ladies  of  them  that  live  here  all 
alcne.  '  Are  they  sisters,'  says  he.  — '  Why  no  !'  says  I, 
^it's  the  aunt  an'  the  niece;  my  mistress.  Miss  Ack- 
land,  is  ths  daughter  of  the  ould  master,  George  Ack- 
land, esquare,  an'  the  young  lady,  Miss  Rose,  is  her 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    bOi'NE.  253 

brother's  daughter,  Mr.  Alexander  Ackland,  that 
was,— rest  them  all  in  pace !'  So.  my  dears!  with 
tl.at  he  sits  down  there  on  the  bench,  jist  about  where 
you  are  now,  Mi?s  Lyddy  dear,  an'  he  claps  his  eyes 
on  me  mighty  sharp  like,  an'  says  he—'  You're  old 
Nancy,  I  suppose.'—'  That's  my  name,  your  honor,' 
says  I,  makin'  a  curchey  down  to  the  ground,  to  let 
■.icn  see  that  I  hadn't  lived  so  long  in  a  gentleman's 
fi  nily  without  knowin'  what  manners  is. — 'You're  a 
long  time  in  this  family,'  says  he  to  me. — 'Your  honor 
may  say  that,'  says  I;  'it's  thirty  good  years,  an' 
three  or  four  to  the  back  of  it,  since  I  came  to  mind 
Miss  Lyddy,  the  darlin',  that  was  then  a  little  weeny 
one  toddlin'  about.'  '  Do  you  remember  a  Captain 
Melville  that  used  to  visit  here  ?' " 

';  My  God  !"  murmured  Miss  Ackland,  "  to  think 
of  him  putting  such  questions  to  you !  But  go  on — 
go  on,  Nancy  !" 

"  I  will,  asthore,  I  will ! — where  was  I  ?" 
"  At  where  the  Major  asked  you  if  you  remembered 
Captain  Melville,"  said  Rose. 

"  Ay  !  that  was  it — to  be  sure,  I  said  I  did  well. — 
'  Was  it  true  ?'  said  he,  '  that  the  Captain  and  Miss 
Ackland  came  near  being  manied  ;  I  have  heard  that 
there  was  something  of  that  kind  on  foot.' — 'Well!' 
says  I,  '  I  don't  know  that  it  ever  went  so  far  as  that ; 
1  know  the  Captain,  the  heavens  be  his  bed  !  u^ed  to 
h?  a  gieat  deal  here  when  he'd  come  into  port,  and 
there  was  ever  and  always  a  wrarm  welcome  for  him 
when   he  came — but  beyant  that  I  can't  say,  your 


254  T*»E    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

hoiioi  !' — Then  he  looked  at  me  very  hard,  and  says 
he — '  Don't  you  think  Captain  Melville  wanted  to 
marry  Miss  Aekland  ?'  Well !  I  didn't  know  what 
I  had  best  say,  then,  so  I  paused  a  while,  but  at  last 
I  began  to  think  that  there's  nothing  like  the  truth, 
so  I  says  to  him— 'I  b'lieve  he  did,  sir!'  '  An'  Miss 
Aekland,'  he  says,  after  musin'  a  while,  lookin'  down 
on  the  ground,  I  could  see,  though  it  was  most  dark, 
1  Did  she — do  you  think  she  cared  for — for  him. ' " 

"  Oh  !  Nancy,  what  <lil  you  say,  then?"  cried  Miss 
Aekland,  clasping  her  hands,  and  looking  the  pitiable 
anxiety  she  felt. 

"  Well !  now,  Miss  Lyddy !  whether  you  like  it  or 
not,  I'll  jist  tell  you  what  I  said,  bekase  truth  is  truth, 
an',  as  I  said  before,  there's  nothing  like  it,  after  all. 
Says  I  to  him,  'I  b'lieve  if  Captain  Melville  had  a 
notion  of  Miss  Lyddy — Miss  Aekland,  I  mane,  there 
was  no  love  lost  between  them.' — l  Do  you  tell  me  so  V 
says  he ;  '  why  I  thought  she  didnt  care  anything 
about  him — didn't  she  refuse  him,  just  when  L/)  thought 
he  was  almost  sure  of  a  favorable  answer  ?'— *  She 
didn't  mane  it,  your  honor,'  says  I  back  aga 'n ;  l  it  was 
ail  along  of  a  word  she  said  that  the  Cap  am  took  a 
wrong  meanin'  out  of,  and  when  she  seen  he  was  so 
ready  to  take  her  up  wrong,  she  got  vex  )d  that  he 
didn't  see  an'  know  the  wish  she  had  for  liim,  an'  so 
she  spoke  to  him  a  little  short,  an'  he  got  ingry,  an' 
went  away,  an'  she  wouldn't  say  a  word  tc  keep  him 
though  she  felt  as  bad  as  he  did,  an'  worse,  t  >o,  mavbe, 
—  but  she  thought  he'd  be  back  in  a  day  c  r  two,  an' 


XHE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    1IIE    BOY>  E.  255 

that  then  all  'id  be  made  right — but  ochone!  that 
was  the  last  she  seen  of  him.  he  went  away  in  anger, 
v,n  was  lost  in  a  great  storm  that  came  on  that  very 
n'tght.' — '  And  was  Miss  Ackland  very  sorry  ?'  says  he 
Sorry  !'  says  I,  '  sorry  ! — it  mos.  broke  her  heart,  an' 
I  think  she  never  got  over  it  since.'  " 

"  Oh  Nancy  !"  cried  Rose,  "  why  did  you  tell  him 
th.t?" 

'  Well !  God  help  me,  I  didn't  know  what  I  had 
be  t  say,  Miss  Rose,  so  I  thought  I'd  tell  the  honest 
tr.nh." 

':  And  I  am  thankful  that  you  did,"  said  Miss  Ack- 
laad,  "oh!  very,  very  thankful! — You  iaid  what  you 
ou_;ht  to  say,  just  what  I  would  have  you  say  were  I 
w'.thin  hearing.1' 

'•  Well !  God  bless  you,  Miss  Lyddy,  that's  a  com- 
for(  to  me,  anyhow  ! — I'd  never  forgive  myself,  never, 
never,  if  I  had  said  anything  that  'id  grieve  you  to 
heir." 

'  I  know  that,  Nancy  !  I  know  it  well ;  but  was  that 
al   that  passed  ?" 

"  There's  very  little  more,  Miss  Lyddy  !  When  I 
toald  the  gentleman  what  I'm  after  tcllin'  you,  lie 
gave  a  heavy  sigh,  an'  says  he,  as  if  talkin'  to  himself, 
'  Oh  !  that  Ralph  had  known  this  in  time  !  — '  Yis, 
your  honor,'  says  I,  '  he  might  be  a  livin'  man  this 
day,  an'  himself  an1  my  poor  dear  mistress  as  happy 
as  the  day  is  long  together  :  but  I  suppose  it  wasn't 
their  luck!' — '  I  suppose  so,'  says  h.%  an'  with  that  up 
he  get3  an'  goes  away,  jist  a  little  while  before  you 


256  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

got  in.  Wasn't  it  mighty  quare,  Miss  Lyddy,  for 
him  to  happen  here  in  a  mistake,  an'  get  talkin'  to 
me,  an'  me  to  see  sich  a  likeness  between  him  an'  his 
brother,  that's  so  many  years  dead  an'  gone,  though 
not  knowin'  the  gentleman  from  Adam  ?  An'  to  hap- 
pen on  sayin1  to  him  the  very  words  that  you'd  wish 
me  to  say  to  Captain  Melville's  brother,  poor  simple, 
ignorant  body  that  I  am !  Well,  sure  enough,  strange 
things  does  happen  in  this  world,  an'  that's  one  o' 
them !" 

('  It  is,  indeed,  Nancy !"  said  Miss  Ackland,  now 
quite  composed,  and  even  cheerful, — "  let  us  go  in 
now  and  say  our  night-prayers.  It  is  after  nine 
o'clock." 

Next  day,  early  in  the  forenoon,  Giacomo  called,  to 
say  good-bye;  he  was  going  to  Dublin  where  he  had 
not  yet  been,  and  as  his  stay  in  Ireland  was  drawing 
to  a  close,  he  must,  of  course,  see  the  metropolis  be- 
fore leaving. 

"And  when  you  return  from  Dublin,"  said  Miss 
Ackland,  "  if  you  have  still  a  few  days  to  spare,  we 
must  take  you  to  see  Tara  Hill,  where  the  Kings 
of  Ireland  dwelt  of  old,  and  Slane,  another  place 
of  historic  interest,  with  some  few  more  which 
combine  both  legendary  and  historical  associa- 
tions. 

"  And  since  you  are  so  kind,  my  dear  Miss  Ack 
land.  I  should  like  to  visit  once  again  the  place  where 
that  great  battle  was  fought,  up  the  river." 

'Oh!  you  mean  Oldbridge.     Well!    we  shall  go 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.        257 

there,  too  ! — I  will  ask  Mr.  Brodigan  to  drive  us 
there  some  day ;  I  know  he  will  be  happy  to  do  so. 
for  he  is  fond  of  doing  the  honors  of  our  old  town 
and  the  classic  scenes  around  it." 

Giacomo  longed  to  ask  who  the  officer  was  that 
had  called  the  day  previous.  He  lingered  in  hopes 
that  some  allusion  might  possibly  be  made  to  the  sub- 
ject, but  he  hoped  in  vain;  not  a  word  was  said  that 
could  tend  to  gratify  his  curiosity,  and  he  was  com- 
pelled to  leLve  in  the  same  state  of  suspeuse,  render- 
ed still  more  painful  by  the  evident  improvement  in 
Miss  Ackland's  spirits; — had  the  officers  visit  any 
connection  with  her  unwonted  cheerfulness?  Whc 
was  the  officer  ?  could  it  have  been  Major  Melville  ? 
These  were  the  questions  that  troubled  Giacomo's 
mind,  and  kept  it  in  a  tumult  all  unknown  before, 
during  the  two  hours'  ride  to  the  metropolis,  on  the 
top  of  a  stage-coach — the  Dublin  and  Drogheda  Rail 
way  was  then  in  the  womb  of  the  future,  perhaps  un- 
dreamed of  by  mortal  man. 

Whether  he  found  as  much  to  interest  him  in 
Dublin  as  he  had  hoped  and  expected,  our  friend  had 
been  only  three  or  four  days  absent  when  he  again 
presented  himself  in  the  parlor  of  the  old  house  by 
the  Boyne,  to  Miss  Ackland's  no  small  surprise,  and 
to  Rose's  no  small  amusement. 

11  Well !  I  declare  !"  said  Rose,  "  if  here  is  not  the 
Signor — unless  it  be  his  ghost."  And  she  held  up 
he**  hands  in  well-feigned  amazement.  "  Let  me  look 
at  you  ! — why,  positively,  it  is  himself,  Aunt  Lydia !" 


258  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

c' So  I  am  glad  to  perceive,  my  dear!  very  glad 
indeed  !° 

"  Well !  but.  v/here  did  you  come  from,  Signor  ?" 

<c  From  the  coach-office  in  West  street/'  said  Gia 
como,  a  very  little  annoyed  by  her  show  of  astonish- 
ment. "  Where  else  did  you  suppose  I  came  from, 
Signorina  ?" 

"  Oh  !  goodness  knows  !  from  Leghorn,  perhaps. — 
or  the  Peak  of  Teneriffe,  or  soma  such  outlandish 
place.  But,  seriously,  what  brought  you  back  so 
soon  ?  I  suppose  you  didn't  see  much  in  Dublin  to 
admire  ? ' 

"  Well !  not  a  great  deal;  and  then,  being  all  alone, 
I  found  it  rathor  dull  work  drivingand  walking  around. 
I  got  tired  to  death  of  seeing  thai  muddiest  of  rivers, 
the  Liffey,  everywhere  I  went,  and  the  really  fine 
buildings  on  some  of  the  quays  lost  half  their  charms 
for  me  when  I  saw  them  reflected  in  those  turbid 
waters." 

"Ha'  ha!"  laughed  Rose,  and  she  shook  her  head 
saucily;  "  the  Liffey  is  very  different  from  the  Boyne. 
Here  you  see  'the  purest  of  crystal,1  as  well  as  'the 
brightest  of  green.'" 

"  But  Dublin  is  a  handsome  city,"  observed  Miss 
Ackland ;  "  did  you  not  think  so,  Giacomo  ?  The 
squares,  for  instance,  are  very  fine,  and  one  of  them, 
Stephen's  Green,  very  spacious.  Then  the  public 
buildings  are  beautiful,  at  least  many  of  them.  But 
I  fear  you  did  not  wait  to  see  much  of  the  city,  or 
yet  of  its  environs." 


THE    OLD    TTOl'SK    BY    THE    BOYNE.  259 

11 1  confess  I  did  not ;  1  begin  to  feel  as  though  I 
ought  to  be  at  home,  and  as  I  promised  to  spend  a 
few  days  in  Drogheda  before  leaving,  I  thought  I 
would  make  no  delay  in  Dublin.  When  can  we  gc  to 
Oldbridge,  Miss  Ackland  ?" 

"To-morrow,  if  you  like;  as  it  will  be  Saturday — 
our  demi-congc — we  shall  have  the  afternoon  to  our- 
selves, Rose  and  I,  and  we  shall  go  this  evening  and 
see  if  Mr.  Urodigan  can  come.  Stay  and  have  tea 
with  us,  and  we  can  all  go  together ;  they  will  be  glad 
to  see  you.'' 

Giacomo  staid,  nothing  loth,  and  as  school  was  not 
yet  dismissed,  he  went  down  to  the  river  side  for  a 
quiet  stroll. 

When  he  returned  it  was  almost  lea-time;  the 
ladies  were  in  the  garden,  and  thither  he  went  to  find 
them.  There  was  a  cloud  on  his  usually  calm  brow 
which  rather  surprised  the  ladies,  and  Rose  was 
tempted  to  ask  what  had  happened,  but  on  second 
thoughts  she  did  not,  and  went  on  making  up  her 
nosegay,  singing — "  Love  was  once  a  hunter  boy.'* 
Giacomo  threw  himself  moodily  on  a  rustic  bench 
hard  by. 

"Miss  Ackland,'1  said  he,  "  who  do  you  think  I  met 
down  below  ?" 

"I  am  sure  I  cannot  tell,  Giacomo! — Who  was 
it?" 

"  Why  that  Major  Melville ;  he  was  riding  along 
with  another  officer,  and  he  stared  at  me  as  though  I 
had  two  heads  on  me,  or  some  other  monstrosity. 


260  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

I  wonder  why  he  honors  me  with  so  keen  a  scru 
tiny." 

"  Oh  !  my  dear  Giacomo.  you  only  imagine  it," 
said  Miss  Ackland  in  perfect  ujood  faith  ;  "  why  should 
he  look  at  you  more  than  any  one  else?" 

>:  That's  just  what  I  intend  to  ask  him  at  our 
ne>ct  meeting;  as  for  my  only  imagining  that  he 
watches  me  closely,  I  assure  you,  it  is  no  such  thing, 
Miss  Ackhnd.  But  I'm  determined  to  know  why  he 
takes  the  liberty  of  staring  at  me." 

u  And  if  you  do,"  said  Rose,  "  he  will  probably  tell 
you  that  a  cat  may  look  at  a  king.  I  advise  you  to 
let  Major  Melville  alone." 

"  You  do  ?  Well !  I  shall  not  take  your  advice, 
Miss  Rose,  on  this  occasion.     I  shall  take  my  own." 

"  Very  well !  do  as  you  please  !" 

"You  appear  to  know  more  of  this  gentleman, 
Miss  Rose,  than  you  choose  to  tell." 

11  Not  I,  indeed ! — I  never  exchanged  half  a  dozen 
words  with  him;"  then  she  gaily  carolled  forth — 
"  Oh  if  I  had  a  beau 
For  a  soldier  who'd  go, 
*>o  you  think  I'd  say  no  1 
Vo,  not  I." 

"  I  wish  I  were  a  soldier,''  thought  Giacomo,  as  he 
watched  the  blithe  and  graceful  creature  bounding 
nlong  the  old  garden  walks  in  search  of  her  favorite 
flowers — "  who  knows  what  my  chances  might  be. 
then  !" 

Nancy's  voice  was  now  heard,  and  her  picture- like 


TUT.    OI-D    TIOTSF    BY    TTIF.    BOTNE.  2G1 

face  seen  at  the  backdoor  of  the  hall,  announcing 
that  tea  was  ready. 

The  meal  being  over,  our  trio  proceeded,  as  pre- 
arranged, to  Mr.  Brodigan's,  where  their  unexpected 

arrival  was  hailed,  as  usual,  with  sincere  cordiality. 
Cusack  was  there  too,  and  so  was  a  certa:n  Mr.  Bel- 
lew,  a  new  pretender  to  the  hand  of  Miss  Brodigan, 
senior;  on  hearing  of  the  intended  visit  lo  O'dbridge 
and  Donore,  they  both  proposed  to  be  of  the  party. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Brodigati,  never  more  at  home 
than  in  getting  up  excursions,  and  pic-nics,  and  all 
such  rural  entertainments,  "  yes,  and  we'll  bring  our 
dinner  with  us:  I'll  have  all  ready  by  the  time  Miss 
Ackland  gets  rid  of  her  scholars — weary  on  them  for 
scholars!  but  it's  hard  to  bo  lied  down  to  them,  es- 
pecially the  like  of  Miss  Ackland  and  Miss  Rose  !" 

"I  appreciate  your  kind  sympathy,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Brodigan,"  said  Miss  Ackland  with  her  grave,  sweet 
smile.  "  bul  you  must  not  say  anything  against  my  pu- 
pils— T  assure  you  I  was  very  glad  to  get  them,  and  T 
should  find  it  hard  to  get  along  without  them.  Every 
one  cannot  be  rich,  or  the  same  person  always  in 
good  circumstances:  ice  had  our  turn  of  prosperity, 
and  I  solemnly  declare  I  am  just  as  happy  now,  and 
so,  I  am  sure,  is  Rose.  It  is  not  fortune  that  either 
of  us  regrets  in  our  past."  There  was  a  deep  pathos 
in  her  voice  that  sufficiently  conveyed  her  meaning, 
and  more  than  one  of  her  auditors,  even  those  all  un- 
used to  the  merting  mood,  turned  away  to  hide  the 
tear  that  would  come,  to  the  cherished  memory  of 


232  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

him  who  had  been  as  a  patriarch  in  their  geniai 
circle. 

Next  day  the  sun  shone  out  in  the  gorgeous  splen- 
lor  of  the  long  mid-summer  day;  early  in  the  after- 
noon, our  party  set  out  on  their  pleasant  drive  up  the 
river  side  to  the  picturesque  and  storied  heights  of 
Oldbridge,  where,  for  an  hour  or  two,  they  wandered 
through  those  romantic  sctnes  so  suggestive  of  seri- 
ous thought,  so  rich  in  their  associations.  Giacomo 
was  delighted  with  all  he  saw;  the  gloomy  grandeur  of 
King  William's  Glen,  through  whose  wooded  depths 
William  of  Orange  led  himself  his  hardy  veterans  from 
the  Rhine  against  the  brave  but  ungeneralled  Irish 
army  on  the  opposite  bank.  He  was  shown  the  iden- 
tical spot  where  Caillemote,  the  leader  of  the  French 
Huguenots,  fell  descending  the  heights,  and  Duke 
Schomberg  in  mid-stream  leading  his  command  across 
the  ford ;  and  George  Walker,  famous  for  his  defence 
of  Deny. 

"Irish  gunners  aimed  well,"  said  Mr.  Brodigan, 
"  and  they  would  have  taken  higher  aim  still,  only  for 
the  rascally  chicken-heart  that  was  in  that  James 
Stuart — faugh  !  I  don't  wonder  at  the  name  that 
Irish  tongues  put  on  him  after — the  poor,  pitiful  pol- 
troon !  You  must  know,  Signer  Giacomo,  that  in 
the  thick  of  the  battle,  an  Irish  gunner  came  to  tell 
him  that  he  had  King  William  under  cover,  and 
could  shoot  him  dead  in  a  minute,  if  he  only  gave  the 
word.  '  Oh  !'  says  the  old  hen-wife  of  a  man,  '  would 
you  leave  my  daughter  a  widow  ?'     So  the  gunner 


THE    OLD    nOUSE    BY    TIIE    BOYNE.  263 

3id  not  shoot,  but  he  fired  no  more,  he  was  so  dis* 
gusted." 

Giacomo  could  not  view  the  king's  conduct  in  the 
same  light  as  Mr.  Brodigan  ;  he  thought  him  more 
entitled  to  respect  than  to  censure  for  his  tenderness 
of  heart,  but,  seeing  the  good  man  so  full  of  indigna- 
tion against  the  unfortunate  monarch,  he  kept  his 
mind  to  himself,  and  turned  to  admire  the  stately 
Obelisk,  the  ornament  of  the  Glen,  hewn  out  of  a 
massive  rock,  to  commemorate  the  success  of  Wil- 
liam's arms,  and  the  defeat  of  the  too  chivalrous  and 
devoted  Irish  who  fought  the  battle  for  James,  and 
lost  it  by  his  miserable  incapacity.  Giacomo  sighed 
as  he  read  the  inscription  on  the  Obelisk — 

Sacred  to  the  Glorious  Memory  of  King  William  the 
Third,  <fec.# 

He  thought  of  the  heroic  devotion  of  the  "  Popish 
army"  mentioned  in  it,  to  a  prince  who,  by  all  ac- 

*  Many  of  our  r«  ad  is,  who  have  not  se  n,  and  never  may  see, 
the  Boyne  Obvlisk,  may  d  sire  to  s*e  the  whole  of  the  inscrip- 
Mon,  which  is  as  follows  : 

"  Sacred  to  th»  memory  of  King  William  the  Third,  who,  on 
ihe  1st  of  July,  1690,  crossed  the  Boyne  near  this  place,  to  at- 
tack Jam  s  tha  Second  at  the!  head  of  a  Popish  army,  advan- 
tageously p.  s.ed  on  the  south  side  of  i  ,  and  did  on  that  day, 
by  a  successful  battle,  s.cure  to  us  and  our  p  sU  ruy  our  liber  y, 
laws,  and  rehgi>n.  Tn  c  nsoquence  of  this  ac  in  James  thfl 
S  c<>nd  l.fi  this  kingd  m,  and  fled  to  France.  This  rmm  rial 
of  our  deliverance  was  erected  in  the  ninth  year  of  the  reign  of 
George  the  Second,  the  first  stone  being  laid  by  Lionel  Sack- 


264  THE    OLD    IIOT3SE    BY   THE    BOYNE. 

counts,  was  so  little  worthy  of  the  sacrifices  they 
made  for  him — a  prince  who  was  not  of  their  own 
blood,  but  belonged,  on  the  contrary,  to  a  race  who 
had  never  given  Ireland  aught  but  promises,  broken 
as  soon  as  made — a  prince  who  had  nothing  in  com- 
mon with  those  so  faithful  followers  but  the  religion 
he  and  they  professed.  Yet  they  sacrificed  all  for 
him,  those  true-hearted  sons  of  Catholic  Ireland,  who 
erred  only  in  trusting  an  English  Stuart  ! 

It  was  on  the  hill  .of  Donore,  overlooking  the  Glen, 
on  the  southern  or  Meath  side,  that  our  party  dined, 
just  without  the  boundaries — walled  no  longer — of  the 
ancient  graveyard,  from  whose  church,  even  then  in 
ruins,  King  James  is  said  by  tradition  to  have  watch- 
ed the  progress  of  the  battle,  and  witnessed  the  ex- 
tinction of  his  last  hope  in  the  final  defeat  of  the  Irish 
army.  The  scene  was  grand  and  solemn  as  the  as- 
sociations connected  with  it  ;  the  deep,  dark  glen, 
with  its  shelving  sides  thickly  wooded,  the  bright 
river  running  in  its  midst  far  below,  and  the  graceful 
Obelisk  standing  boldly  out  from  the  green  woods  at 
the  lower  opening  of  the  G!en  ;  the  hill  of  Donore, 
from  which  our  party  looked  down  on  the  river  and 
the  valley,  and  close  beside  them  the  deserted  grave* 

villr>,  Duke  of  Dorset,  Lord  Lieutenant  of  ihe  Kingdom  of  Ire> 
land, 

MDCCXXXVI. 
This  m  numpnt  was  eree'ed  by  the  grateful  c  .n  ribulLns  of 
several  Protestants  of  Great  Bri  ain  and  Ireland." — Dalton's 
History  of  Drogheda. 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         265 

yard  with  its  sunken  tombs,  and  long-tangled  grass, 
&nd  the  little  that  remains  of  the  ancient  church, 
pointing  back  to  a  period  long  anterior  to  tho  Re- 
formation. On  a  tombstone  near  the  ruins,  James 
was  said  to  have  sat  watching  the  terrible  struggle 
going  on  below — how  appropriate  a  seat  for  the 
fallen  monarch  whom  even  his  nearest  of  kin  had 
deserted  ! — Oh  !  the  place  was  drear,  and  sad,  and 
lonely ;  and  yet  it  had  so  many  attractions  for  Gia- 
como,  there  was  such  an  indefinable  blending  of  old 
romance  and  ever-youthful  beauty,  sucli  a  cloud  of 
historical  and  legendary  interest  hung  over  the  place, 
that  he  thought  he  could  have  staid  there  forever, 
provided  the  same  company,  or  part  of  it,  was  there 
to  enjoy  it  with  him — and  he,  perhaps  others,  too,  of 
the  party,  left  it  with  regret. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Those  few  pleasant  days  passed  all  too  quickly; 
Giacomo  came  one  afternoon  to  say  that  he  was  or- 
dered home  immediately,  and  he  added  with  a  smile, 
"  Delays  are  never  excusable  with  my  father,  so,  go 
I  must,  without  fail." 

Miss  Ackland,  summoned  from  the  school-room  to 
receive  his  visit,  expressed  herself  much  disappointed ; 
"  I  had  planned  so  much,"  said  she,  "  and  have  accom- 
plished so  little  in  the  way  of  entertaining  you,  and 
now  it  is  all  over!" 

M  My  dear,  kind  friend,"  the  young  man  replied 
with  unwonted  emotion,  "  it  was  the  best  of  all  en- 
tertainments to  me  to  come  and  go  here  at  pleasure, 
to  enjoy,  when  I  would,  the  calm  delight  of  a  quiet 
evening  in  your  society,  and  that  of — of  Miss  Rose." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Miss  Ackland  smilHg,  "  I  am 
afraid  Rose  gave  you  some  :.timo\auce  of  late  by  her 
girlish  waywardness."  . 

"  Nono  but  what  I  could  easily  overlook — in  her." 

"  You  are  very  kind  and  very  indulgent,"  said  Miss 
Ackland  ;  "  oh  !  how  much  I  shall  miss  you  !" — and 
her  eyes  filled  with  tears—"  somehow,  it  seemed  to 
trie  as  though  you  were  a  sort  of  link  between  me 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYXE         267 

and  some  long-lost  phase  of  my  existence  that  waa 
pleasant  while  it  lasted, — what  it  was  that  attracted 
me  to  you  I  never  could  satisfactorily  explain  to  my- 
self,— but  there  was  something  from  the  very  first, — 
something,  I  fancy,  like  what  mothers  feel  for  very 
dear  children — only  not  quite  so  strong,  I  suppose  !" 
and  she  smiled  through  her  tears'. 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  said  Giacomo,  after  a  short 
pause,  "  that  I  have  been  attracted  to  you,  my  kind- 
est, dearest  friend,  in  just  the  same  way,  and,  like 
yon,  I  have  many  a  time  tried  to  explain  it  to  myself, 
but  never  could  succeed.  Would  that  your  country 
was  mine,  or  mine  yours  !" 

"  Wishes  are  vain,  my  dear  young  friend, — we 
must  only  resign  ourselves  to  the  hard  necessity  that 
places  broad  seas  between  us !  We  cannot  have 
things  as  we  would  wish  in  this  probationary  world  I 
Should  you  not  like  to  see  Rose  V 

"  Certainly  I  should — just  for  a  moment,  to  say  good- 
bye ; — if  Miss  Rose  can  be  spared  so  long  from  the 
school-room."  A  scarcely  perceptible  smile  accom- 
panied these  last  words,  but  Miss  Ackland  was  gone, 
and,  of  course,  did  not  perceive  it. 

A  niinite  or  two  after  Rose  made  her  appearance ; 
— she  looked  just  as  usual,  only  better,  Giacomo 
thought,  in  the  plain  mourning-calico  dress  which 
she  wore  in  the  school-room,  with  the  prettiest  and 
tiniest  of  black  silk  aprons.  She  was  perfectly  calm, 
even  subdued  in  her  demeanor — her  school-room 
manner,  Giacomo  said  to  himself. 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

So  you  are  really  going  home,  Signor  ?"  she  said 
Bntering, 

"  Yes,  my  father  wishes  me  to  return  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"  And  I  suppose  we  shall  see  you  here  no  more  ?" 
still  more  calmly  than  before. 

"  I  really  cannot  'say  as  to  that;  if  it  should  be  so, 
the  sorrow,  fortunately,  will  be  all  my  own." 

"  Pray  do  not  say  so,  Signor  Giacomo !"  said  Rose 
with  unwonted  earnestness;  "you  know,  I  am  sure, 
how  much  my  aunt  likes  to  have  you  near  her,  and 
how  she,  at  least,  will  miss  you !" 

"  She  has  been  good  enough  to  tell  me  so — and,  in- 
deed, I  shall  miss  her." 

He  paused  a  moment,  walked  to  the  window,  and 
returned  to  where  he  had  been  standing,  then  looked 
full  in  Rose's  face.  "  Should  we  never  meet  again, 
Signorina,  I  wish  you  to  understand  that  you  have 
my  best  wishes  for  your  happiness;  if  you  are  as 
happy  in  the  future  as  I  wish  you,  you  need  desire  no 
more." 

"  Dear  me !  what  a  solemn  affair  you  make  of  it !" 
exclaimed  Rose,  in  a  tone  of  good-natured  raillery  ; 
"  I'm  sure  I  never  doubted  your  good  wish  to  all  our 
family,  Signor  Giacomo !  and  I'm  sure  we  all  wish 
you  just  as  well  as  you  do  us.  But  where's  the  use 
of  making  your  good-bye  so  tragical? — I  suppose 
we  shall  meet  again  some  day  !" 

';  Are  you  ever  sorry  to  part  with  any  one,  Misi 
Rose  : " 


THE  OI-D  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         269 

"  Mercy  on  me  !  what  a  question !"  and  the  girl 
burst  into  one  of  her  light-hearted  fits  of  laughter. 
"  I  declare  you  grow  stranger  and  stranger  every 
day  !  Of  course  I  do  feel  sorry  to  part  with  people 
once  in  a  while,  that  is " 

''Suppose  it  were  Major  Melville  who  was  going, 
instead  of  me  ?" 

"  Oh  !  that  would  be  quite  another  thing,"  Rose 
quickly  replied,  and  a  smile  of  peculiar  meaning 
curved  her  lip,  and  brightened  her  eyes;  "you  have 
no  right  to  inquire  what  my  feelings  would  be  in  such 
case  made   and   provided.     It  would   be  something 

very  dreadful  to  part  with  Major  Melville ahem  ! 

Dear  me  !  it  would  be  shocking  ! — But  I  am  waiting 
too  long — I  hear  my  young  subjects  becoming  noisy, 
they  are  sure  to  take  advantage  of  my  absence  ! — 
goodd>ye,  Signor  !'v  and  she  frankly  and  kindly,  yet 
unconcernedly,  held  out  her  hand,  which  the  young 
man  took  abstractedly  as  one  but  half  conscious — . 
"  good-bye !  give  my  luve  to  Maddalena,  and  my — 
respect — to  your  father!' she  could  not  repress  a  smile, 
for  she  had  almost  said  fear  instead  of  rt  sped.  "  Good- 
bye !  and  I  wisli  you  a  pleasant  and  safe  voyage 
home." 

Her  aunt  came  in  at  the  moment,  and  Rose  was  in 
her  place  in  the  school-room  before  Giacomo  had 
recovered  from  his  bewilderment.  A  hasty  shake- 
hands  with  Miss  Ackland  ;  a  cordially  expressed  hope 
from  her  that  they  might  soon  meet  again — an  afVee- 
tionate  message  for  his  sister, — a  civil  one  for   Iris 


270  TEE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TIIE    BOYNE. 

father,  and  Giacomo  left  the  old  house  by  the  Boyne, 
with  feelings  that  he  eould  scarcely  detine,  even  to 
himself.  He  had  reached  the  top  of  the  steps  when 
he  heard  Nancy  at  the  hall-door  calling  after  him,  and 
stopped  till  she  overtook  him. 

"  Ah !  then,  Mister  Jacomy,"  she  cried  all  breath- 
less with  the  race  she  had  had  from  the  kitchen  when 
Miss  Ackland  told  her  Giacomo  was  gone ;  "  ah  then, 
is  it  goin1  away  without  seem'  me  you'd  be  ?  Dear 
knows  but  that's  bad  shanagh,  for  it's  not  what  I'd 
do  to  you,  Mister  Jacomy  !" 

"  Do,  pray,  excuse  me,  Nancy  !"  said  the  young  man, 
kindly  shaking  her  by  the  hand;  "  I  know  I  should 
have  asked  for  you,  but  somehow  I  forgot  it  at  the 
last  moment.  I  should  be  sorry,  indeed,  to  forget 
you !  No  one  that  knowTs  you  so  well  as  I  do  would 
willingly  forget  you  leaving  here'!" 

This  mollified  the  old  woman  "  Well,  someway  or 
another,"  said  she,  "  all  the  quality  that  ever  comes 
back  and  for'ads  here  does  take  notice  of  me  Didn't 
Major  Melville,  even,  ask  me  if  I  wasn't  '  old  Nancy  ?' 
— he  did,  indeed  !" 

"  Major  Melville  !"  said  Giacomo,  with  a  sudden 
flash  of  recollection,  "  so  he  was  the  officer  who  called 
here  on  St.  John's  Eve  ?" 

"  To  be  sure — who  else  would  it  be  ?"  said  Nancy 
in  her  desire  to  exalt  the  family  importance. 

"  Was  that  his  first  visit  ?" 

"  In  coorse  it  was — but,'"  and  Nancy  lowered  her  voiee 
to  a  confidential  tone,  and  looked  mysterious — "but — 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         271 

he  had  met  the  ladies  before — an1  though  he  came  all  aa 
one  as  thinkin'  the  house  was  for  sale — it  wasn't  that, 
at  all,  that  brought  him — I  seen  that  as  plain  as  a 
pike-staff."  Then  approaching  the  young  man,  very 
near,  she  said  in  an  emphatic  whisper — "  He  jist 
wanted  an  excuse  to  get  in  ' — that  was  it ! — But,  my 
goodness!  don't  let  on  that  I  was  tellin'  you,  for 
Miss  Ackland  is  so  very  particular,  she  mightn't  be 
pleased  at  me  !— Well,  God  be  with  you.  I  must 
hurry  in,  for  this  is  my  w  ashin'  day,  an'  I'm  very  busy  ! 
I  hope  you'll  be  back  soon  !" 

Poor  old  Nancy  !  little  she  knew,  as  she  bent  again 
over  her  wash-tub,  the  effect  of  her  well-meaning  gos- 
sip on  him  who  heard  it !  Strange  to  say,  it  quick- 
ened his  step,  and  dispelled  the  sadness  that  was 
weighing  his  heart  down,  and  sent  forth  a  new  man, 
with  a  new  heart,  as  he  said  himself,  to  battle  with 
the  storms  of  life.  A  new  spirit  had  come  into  him, 
and  though  he  went  not  on  his  way  rejoicing,  he 
walked  with  a  firmer  step,  and  a  prouder  mien,  look- 
ing the  future  sternly  in  the  face,  and  resolved  to  for- 
get the  warm  visions  of  the  past  before  entering  on 
the  cold  realities  of  his  coming  life.  Doubt  and 
fear  had  now  given  place  to  certainty  in  a  matter 
near  and  dear  to  his  heart,  and  he  haughtily,  defiantly, 
cast  away  the  hope  that  had  gilt  many  an  hour  of  his 
life  during  the  past  months  ! 

He  left  Drogheda  on  the  following  day,  not  with- 
out hearing  Mass  at  early  morning  in  the  High  Lane 
Chapel,  almost  in  the  shadow  of  Lawrence's  Gate,  and 


272  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

there  offering  up  his  prayers  with  the  simple  piety  of 
a  true  Italian  for  those  he  was  leaving,  perhaps  for- 
ever. The  Madonna,  his  own  Madonna,  looked  down 
on  him  with  her  sweet,  motherly  eyes  from  the 
ancient  wall  of  the  humble  temple,  and  he  bowed  his 
head  before  her  as  he  used  to  do  when  a  little  child 
in  his  far  Tuscan  home,  and  asked  her  maternal  bless- 
ing and  her  powerful  aid  in  the  trials  and  troubles 
that  might  still  await  him  in  a  life  that  as  yet  had 
been  smooth  and  tranquil.  Then  he  went  forth  more 
hopeful,  more  resigned,  and  bade  a  cheerful  farewell 
to  the  friends  who  went  to  see  him  off,  thinking  the 
while  of  poor  Jemmy  Nulty,  whom  he  should  see  no 
more  on  earth,  and  breathing  a  prayer  which  he  al- 
most felt  to  be  superfluous,  for  the  pilgrim's  soul. 

Miss  Ackland  missed  her  young  friend  even  more 
than  she  had  anticipated ;  she  often  spoke  of  him,  and 
always  in  terms  of  praise,  regretting  that  they  had 
seen  so  much  of  him  only  to  lose  his  society  when 
she,  at  least,  had  learned  to  value  it  most, 

"  I  feel  precisely  towards  him,"  she  would  say,  "  as 
though  he  were  a  near  and  dear  relation.  We  see  so 
few  like  him,  now-a-days, — he  is  so  gentle  in  his  ways, 
so  kind  and  so  considerate,  so  rsfined,  too,  in  his 
sentiments." 

Rose  shrugged  her  shoulders ;  she  was  not  quite 
so  greav;  an  admirer  of  the  Signor  as  her  aunt,  so  she 
said ;  the  young  man  was  pretty  fair  and  might  pass 
in  a  crowd,  but  she  really  did  not  see  what  her  aunt 
saw  in  him  to  make  her  rate  him  so  highly     To 


TIIE    OT.D    HOUSE    BY    THE    B0YNE.  27.') 

Nancy  she  talked  in  the  same  strain  of  Giacoino, 
when  his  name  came  up,  and  sometimes  got  a  sharp 
rebuff  for  the  same  from  the  warm-hearted  old 
woman  who  could  never  bear  to  hear  any  one  she 
loved  spoken  lightly  of.  At  such  times  Rose  would 
laugh  merrily,  and  say,  "  Why,  you  don't  expect, 
Nancy,  that  every  one  should  think  as  much  of  your 
'  Mister  Jacomy'  as  you  do  ?  every  one  is  free  to 
have  their  opinion,  you  know !"  But  from  a  spirit 
of  contradiction  she  would  herself  introduce  the  sub- 
ject, enjoying  of  all  things  th*  annoyance  her  want 
of  appreciation  of  Giacomo  gave  the  old  woman. 

It  was  one  gray,  soft  evening  in  the  early  part  of 
August,  and  Miss  Ackland  stood  on  the  esplanade 
with  a  gentleman  who  had  been  paying  her  a  visit 
and  was  now  leaving.  He  was  a  priest,  that  was 
plain,  though  his  black,  clerical  coat  was  of  the  rus- 
tiest, and  his  whole  appearance  that  of  a  man  who 
had  little  to  boast  of  on  the  score  of  wrealth.  He 
was  rather  stout  built, -and  would  have  been  tall  were 
it  not  for  a  slight  stoop  that  took  somewhat  from  his 
height.  His  face  was  rather  sallow,  and  far  from 
handsome,  but  its  expression  was  so  benignant,  there 
was  such  a  simplicity  of  look,  and  air,  and  gesture 
about  the  man,  and  such  an  unmistakeable  air  of  hu- 
mility withal,  that  you  said  to  yourself  as  you  looked 
upon  him — "  There  is  a  man  who  though  in  this 
world  is  not  of  it ;"  then  you  looked  again  and 
found  yet  other  peculiarities  to  admire,  and  most  of 
all  the  happy,  contended  smile,  the    ineffable  smile 


274  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYiVE. 

that  was  the  light  beaming  from  within — the  light  of 
a  good  conscience,  and  a  heart  whose  affections  were 
in  heaven,  safe  from  the  jarring  elements  of  passion 
and  all  wordliness.  It  was  Father  O'Regan,  the 
piritnal  director  of  Miss  Ackland  and  also  of  Rose, 
as  he  had  been  of  her  grandfather  during  all  the 
latter  years  of  his  life. 

Father  O'Regan  was  well  acquainted  with  the 
family  history  of  the  Acklands ;  he  had  been  the 
adviser  and  consoler  of  Lydia  in  all  her  worst  troubles, 
and  none  knew  so  well  as  he  the  grief  that  had  preyed 
on  her  heart  for  so  many  weary  years,  and  the  self- 
reproach  that  embittered  her  life.  It  had  been  his 
constant  care  to  combat  this  feeling,  and  to  persuade 
her  that  she  was  not  so  much  to  blame  as  her  acute 
sensibility  and  her  tender  conscience  led  her  to  sup- 
pose. 

They  had  been  talking  now  on  the  same  painful 
subject — painful  to  one  of  the  two,  but  nothing  was 
'ever  painful  to  Father  O'Regan; — at  least,  if  anything 
did  trouble  him,  no  one  ever  saw  it  by  his  outward 
bearing — the  tranquil  smile  was  ever  on  his  face,  meet 
him  when  you  might,  like  one  whose  life  was  half  in 
heaven,  and  scarcely  half  on  earth.  Dear  old  friar! 
humble,  simple,  happy,  contented  son  of  St.  Francis! 
true  Wer  of  evangelical  poverty,  how  far  above  the 
world's  pomps  and  the  world's  vanities,  which  to  him 
were  less  than  a  dream — the  shadow  of  a  shade — tho 
echo  of  a  voice — something  seen  far  off  as  in  a  dream, 
with  no  hold  on  his  heart,  and  having  no  other  in 


THE    OLD    IIOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE.  275 

terest  for  him  than  its  power  of  affecting  his  fellow 
creatures  for  good  or  ill ! 

"My  dear  child!"  said  Father  O'Regan,  "you 
have  borne  up  well; — you  have,  indeed  ! — our  dear 
Lord  has  given  you  many  graces,  if  it  has  pleased 
Him  to  give  you  many  trials.  Yet  a  little  longer, 
my  daughter  !  yet  a  little  longer ;  light  will  break 
through  the  darkness,  and  you  shall  see  the  perfect 
day  !     Courage,  my  child,  courage  I" 

"  Ah  !  but,  Father  O'Regan,  it  is  hard  to  have 
courage  when  hope  is  gone,  and  the  weary  heart 
fainting  beneath  its  life-long  load  !" 

The  Franciscan  turned  full  on  the  lady ; — "  And 
why  should  hope  be  gone  ?— isn't  God  as  powerful 
as  ever,  and  as  good  and  kind  ?— if  hope  is  a  divine 
virtue,  what  has  it  to  do  with  the  poor  little  pitiful 
troubles  of  this  world?  Does  it  not  take  a  higher 
flight,  and  look  forward  to  eternity  ?  Don't  talk  of 
losing  hope,  then,  or  I'll  not  be  pleased  with  you  ;  in- 
deed I  will  not !" 

u  I  wish,  father !  I  could  only  raise  my  heart  as  far 
above  earthly  things  as  you  do,  and  apparently  with- 
out an  effort.  You  do  not  know  how  much  it  costs 
me  to  keep  my  poor  human  heart  in  subjection  to  the 
promptings  of  divine  grace.'' 

"I  do  know  it,  my  child,  but  I  know,  too,  thtit 
your  merit  will  be  all  the  greater — greater  far  than 
mine,  for  instance,  because  I  care  nothing  about  the 
world" — the  smile  grew  brighter  on  his  face — "  no- 


278  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    B07NE. 

thing  at  all,  at  all !  God  pity  them  that  do,  and  / 
pity  them  from  my  heart  out !" 

"  Yo:i  often  remind  me,  Father  O'Regan,  of  what 
an  English  poet  lately  wrote  of  the  monks  of  old  !" 

"Indeed?"  said  the  friar  with  simple  curiosity  — 
"  and  what  was  that,  my  child  ?" 

i 
"  I  envy  them,  those  monks  of  old, 

Their  books  ih -y  read,  and  their  beads  they  told, 

To  human  softness  dead  and  cold 

And  all  lif  -'s  vanity." 

Father  O'Regan  scarcely  ever  disturbed  his  equa- 
nimity so  far  as  to  laugh,  but  he  almost  laughed  then, 
with  a  sort  of  childish  glee, — "  Just  so,  just  so,"  he 
said,  nodding  his  head  in  assent  to  the  words — 
"  only  why  did  he  say  that  they  were  '  to  human 
softness  dead  and  cold' — if  they  were,  it's  queer 
monks  they'd  be,  an'  it's  queer  monks  we'd  be,  too, 
without  '  human  softness.'  Where  would  charity  be, 
and  where  would  piety  be  without  human  softness, 
for  I  suppose  that  means  feeling  and  tender-hearted- 
ness. No !  that  gentleman  didn't  know  either  the 
mon  <s  of  old,  or  any  other  monks,  or  he  wouldn't 
Bay  that  of  them?  Wasn't  the  blessed  and  holy  St. 
Francis  one  of  the  tenderest-hearted  men  that  ever 
lived,  and  didn't  he  leave  that  same  love  of  God  and 
men  as  a  legacy  to  all  his  children  in  religion  ?  So  1 
object  to  any  one  saying,  my  dear,  that  monks,  old 
or  new,  are  dead  to  '  human  softness,'  and  do  you 
never  say  it  again,  my  child!     Poets  write  a  great 


THE    OLD    HOLSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  277 

dcU  of  nonsense,  and  that's  some  of  it.  But  have 
you  seen  Major  Melville  of  late  ?" 

"Not  since  his  strange  colloquy  with  Nancy. 
None  of  us  has  seen  him  since.  He  must  be  a  singm- 
lar  man      Don't  you  think  go,  father  ?" 

"  Well,  then,  I  do,  but,  after  all,  he  may  have  rea- 
sons for  what  he  does  that  you  or  I  doesn't  know. 
I  have  a  great  mind  to  go  and  see  him  some  day. 
He  is  a  Catholic,  is  he  not  ? — I  know  his  brother  was." 

"  Oh  !  of  course  he  is;  it  is  not  very  likely  that  he 
has  fallen  away  from  the  faith,  for  I  have  heard  poor 
Ralph  say  that  their  mother  was  very  pious,  and  I 
know  he  had  a  great  devotion  to  the  Blessed  Virgin. 
Oh  father!  I  used  to  hope  that  she  would  protect 
him  in  his  perilous  profession  and  save  him  from  a 
sudden  death.  And  as  soon  as  I  heard  of  his  having 
gone  to  sea  that  last  sad  time,  I  commended  him 
specially  to  her  safe  keeping.  Was  it  not  hard  to 
find  that,  my  strongest,  surest  hope,  so  cruelly  dis- 
appointed ?" 

"  Well !  it  was,  in  one  sense,  my  child,  but  in  an- 
other sense  it  was  not;  he  might  never  have  died  in  a 
better  time,  and  you  may  be  sure  our  Holy  Mother 
would  not  have  suffered  him  to  perish,  then,  only 
she  knew  he  was  fit  to  die.  Don't  be  dwelling  on 
these  thoughts,  my  child,  don't  now,  and  God  bless 
you!— What  can't  be  cured  must  be  endured,  you 
know.  So  resign  yourself  perfectly  to  the  holy  will 
of  God,  and  don't  be  tormenting  yourself  with  things 
bo  long  past.     Remember  my  words— No  one  ever 


278  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

trusted  in  our  good  Mother,  without  feeling  the  effect* 
of  it." 

"  I  have  never  for  a  moment  doubted  that,  fa« 
ther ! — You  know  the  Mentor  are  is,  and  has  been  my 
favorite  prayer." 

"  Very  good ;  keep  to  that,  my  child  !  and  peace 
will  come  down  on  your  soul  at  last,  and  ike  clouds 
will  vanish  from  your  mind,  like  the  shades  of  night 
before  the  rising  sun.  I'll  be  going  now,  my  dear ! 
So  you'll  say  good-bye  for  me  to  Rose,  and  be  sure 
to  keep  up  your  heart.  God  is  good,  and  so  is  our 
holy  Mother— good  and  kind,  and  very  powerful  I 
Good-bye!" 

"  Good-bye,  father !" 

Miss  Ackland  stood  and  watched  the  good  friar 
in  his  descent  of  the  long  flight  of  steps  ;  she  thought 
of  all  the  long  years  she  hid  known  him,  the  admira- 
ble simplicity  of  heart,  the  tender  charity  and  entire 
detachment  from  the  world  which  distinguished  him 
even  amongst  his  brother  religious,  and  she  said  to 
herself — "  Wonderful  is  the  power  of  religion  ! — 
What  but  it  could  form  such  a  character  as  that — so 
wise,  yet  so  simple;  so  high  above  the  world,  yet  so 
meek  and  humble  of  heart.  Truly,  such  as  he  are  '  the 
good  odor  of  Christ !' — Happy,  oh  !  how  happy  it  is 
to  serve  God  so  lovingly,  and  so  sincerely  !" 

Half  unconsciously  she  seated  herself  on  the  bench 
near  the  door,  and  resting  her  head  against  the  trel- 
liged  porch,  she  fell  into  a  fit  of  abstraction,  thinking 
of  nothing   in   particular,  but  of    many   things    in 


THE    OLI     IIOUSE    BY    THE    B  >YNE.  279 

general,  with  that  dreamy  sense  of  repose  so  dear  to 
the  world-weary  heart,  which  the  shades  of  evening 
often  bring.  She  might  have  been  thinking  of  Ralph 
Melville,  for  he  was  seldom  absent  from  her  mind, 
at  least  for  any  length  of  time,  but  whether  his 
image  was  then  before  her  mental  vision  or  not,  she 
suddenly  beheld  with  the  eyes  of  her  body  a  figure 
which  she  instantly  recognized  as  his,  walk  towards 
her  across  the  esplanade  as  if  from  the  top  of  the 
steps,  pause  a  moment  almost  in  front  of  her,  at  the 
distance  of  a  few  feet,  fixing  his  eyes  on  her  with  a 
pleased  expression,  then  walk  slowly  past  her  and 
into  the  house,  through  the  hall-door  which  lay  wide 
open,  as  it  often  did  those  sultry  summer  evenings. 

So  great  was  the  shock  of  this  apparition,  that 
Miss  Ackland  was  struck  motionless  and  speechless ; 
with  straining  eyes  she  watched  the  door,  hoping 
that  the  welcome  visitor  might  reappear,  disembo- 
died spirit  though  he  was ;  but  instead  of  him  came 
Rose,  wondering  much  at  her  aunt's  deltff. 

"Dear  me,  aunt!  are  you  all  alone?"  she  ex- 
claimed ;  "  why  I  didn't  think  Father  O'Regan  was 
gone  ;  I  saw  him  here  only  a  few  minutes  ago  !  But, 
my  goodness,  Aunt  Lydia!  what's  the  matter?  why, 
you  look  like  death  !" 

"  Do  I  ?"  said  her  aunt,  partially  recovering  from 
her  stupor.  "Well!  no  wonder,— Ralph  Melvillo 
has  been  here  since  Father  O  Regan  left." 

"  Raiph  Melville  !  good  gracious,  aunt,  yoi  frighten 
me  to  death!— don't  talk  so,  I  beg  of  you  !" 


280  THE    OLD    TTOLSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

"  But.  I  tell  yon,  Rose,  lie  was  here — I  saw  him  aa 
plain  as  I  see  you  now — he  crossed  the  esplanade,  and 
stopped  a  moment  just  there"— rising  and  showing 
the  spot — "he  looked  at  me  with  his  old,  old  smile, 
and  passed  on  into  the  house, — just  a  moment  or  two 
before  you  came  out.  Oh  Ro  e,  how  happy  I  feel  to 
have  seen  him  — for  he  looked  as  though  he  were  at 
rest — oh  !  that  I  were  too  !  — but  I  shall  be,  in  God's 
good  time  !" 

"  My  dear  aunt/'  said  Rose  soothingly,  "  you  must 
have  imagined  it;  I  suppose  you  had  been  thinking 
of  Captain  Melville  " 

"No,  I  do  not  remember  that  I  was,  at  that  parti- 
cular moment;  but,  Rose,  there  was  no  imagination 
in  it, — I  saw  him  distinctly,  and  I  only  wish  that  you 
had  been  with  me,  for  then  you  might  have  seen  him, 
too !" 

"  Heaven  forbid  !"  said  Rose  with  a  shudder,  and 
she  cast  a  timid  glance  around  through  the  gathering 
gloom.     "  Had  we  not  better  go  in,  Aunt  Lydia  ?" 

"  As  you  please,  my  dear !"  And  they  went  in. 
"  Oh  !  Rose,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  pausing  a  moment 
in  the  doorway ;  "  to  think  that  he  passed  in  here 
within  the  last  five  minutes !" 

"  I  don't  want  to  think  of  it,"  said  Rose  shortly ; 
"  I'd  rather  see  the  living  any  day  than  the  dead. 
Come  now,  and  I'll  play  something  very  lively  for 
you,  just  to  put  this  strange  fancy  out  of  your  head." 

"  No  need  to  do  that,  my  dear !  that  strange  fancy, 
as  you  call  it,  is  more  cheering  to  me  than  your  live* 

•  r 


TIIE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE,  28! 

fie&t  music;  I  only  wish  I  could  often  have  such 
fancies  !  but  why  should  I  hope  it  ?  why  should  the 
spirit-land  be  opened  to  me  more  than  others  ?" 

It  was  not  Miss  Ackland's  intention  to  tell  Nancy 
of  what  she  had  seen  that  evening,  but  she  forgot  to 
warn  Rose  on  the  subject,  and  before  noon  next  day, 
Nancy  was  in  full  possession  of  the  whole  affnir. 
Her  mistress  was  no  little  surprised  when  the  old 
woman  went  out  to  her  in  the  garden  where  she  had 
gone  to  gather  some  flowers  for  her  table  in  the 
school-room,  and  asked  her  in  a  tone  of  great  trepi- 
dation, if  it  was  true  that  she  had  seen  the  poor  dear 
Captain  the  evening  before. 

Miss  Ackland  started  and  turned  pale ;  she  was 
shocked  to  hear  his  name  mentioned  in  such  a  way, 
and  was  sorry  that  Nancy  knew  of  what  had  occurred, 
but  she  could  not  prevaricate  when  a  plain  question 
was  put  to  her,  and  she  said — "  I  did,  Nancy  !" 

"  You  did  !— The  Lord  save  us  !" 

"Would  you  be  afraid  to  see  him,  Nancy?"  said 
the  lady  in  a  tone  of  gentle  reproach  that  brought  the 
tears  to  Nancy's  eyes. 

"  Well  !  now,  don't  blame  me,  Miss  Lyddy,  darlin' ! 
— I  had  a  groat  wish  for  him  entirely  wThen  he  was 
flesh  and  blood  like  myself,  but  the  nearest  an*  dear- 
est I  ever  had  in  the  wrorld,  I  wouldn't  want  to  see 
them  when  they're  dead  ! — it's  hard  to  stand  the  sight 
of  a  sperit — did  you  look  him  in  the  tace,  Miss  Lyddy !" 

"  Yes,  and  he  looked  me  in  the  face — why  do  you 
ask !" 


282  THE    OLE    IIOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

Nancy  groaned  and  shook  her  head,  befoie  she  re- 
plied—" Well !  the  Lord  save  you  an'  every  one  else 
from  harm,  they  say  a  body  never  gets  the  better  of 
it  that  meets  the  eyes  of  the  dead,  or  hears  theii 
voice,     You  didn't  spake  to  it,  did  you  V' 

"  No  !  I  wish  I  had !" 

"  Don't  wish  any  sich  a  thing,  then, — don't,  an' 
God  bless  you !" 

Miss  Ackland  smiled  sadly,  as  she  laid  her  hand  on 
Nancy's  arm; — 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  good  advice,  Nancy  ! — but 
I  will  give  you  another  : — be  sure  you  say  nothing  of 
this  to  any  one !" 

"  Is  it  me,  Miss  Lyddy  ?-— is  it  me  tell  any  one  that 
the  Captain,  rest  his  sowl !  is  comin'  back  again ! — 
do  you  think  I'd  make  so  little  of  him  or  you  either, — 
an'  have  people  sayin'  that  the  house  was  haunted  ! — 
do  you  think  I'd  be  so  foolish  as  all  that  comes  to, 
Miss  Lyddy  ?" 

"No,  I  scarcely  thought  you  would;  but  it  is  no 
harm  to  put  you  on  your  guard,  you  know  !  You'd 
better  go  in  now  to  your  ironing." 

Still  Nancy  lingered,  and  at  last  Miss  Ackland 
asked  her  had  she  anything  more  to  say  to  her. 

'  Oh  !  not  a  thing,  Miss  Lyddy  dear  !"  She  moved 
a  few  steps  away,  then  turned  back,  and  said  in  a 
hesitating  sort  of  way — 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  well  to  get  Father.  O'Regan  t§ 
tome  an'  say  a  Mass  in  the  house  ?" 
pray 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         283 

'  Oh  well !  it  'id  do  no  barm  anyhow,  and  maybe 
it  'id  do  good  !'' 

"  Go  to  your  work,  Nancy  !"  said  Miss  Ackland  so 
sharply  that  poor  Nancy's  heart  sank  within  her ; 
the  tears  were  in  her  eyes  as  she  took  her  way  back 
,o  the  kitchen,  and  her  voice  was  not  heard  all  day 
in  the  house.     Miss  Ackland  spoke  to  her  no  more 
on  the  subject;   nor  to  Rose,  either,  though  it  an- 
noyed her  more  than  a  little  to  see  that  both  were 
more  timid  than  usual  in  moving  around  the  house 
after  nightfall,  and  could  scarcely  be  got  to  go  out 
of  doors  alone.     For  herself,  she  had  grown  fond  of 
walking  at  night  in  the  garden,  or  on  the  esplanade, 
especially  when  the  moon  shed  her  mild  rav  s  over 
the  earth,  and  the  world  lay  still  in  the  hush  of  night 
beneath  the   glittering   stars.     But  Ralph  Melville 
came  not  again;   days  and  weeks  passed  away;  Au- 
gust glided  into  September,  and  the  beautiful  harvest 
moon  showed  her  pale  crescent  in  the  blue  sky  of 
evening;   but  in  vain  did   Lydia  Ackland  keep  her 
lone   watch  "beneath,  the   stars."     Ralph  Melville's 
ghost  did  not  revisit  the  glimpses  of  the  moon,  and 
Nancy  felt  quite  convinced   that  their  prayers  had 
won  for  his  troubled   spirit  peace  eternal.     "Well, 
now,  Miss  Rosy:'1  she  would  say  to  Rose,  in  confi- 
dence, when  the   twain  were   stealthily  exchanging 
their  fears  and   hopes  touching  the  ghost,  "  I'm  in 
great  hopes  that  he's  in  a  fair  way  now  of  gettin1  to 
vest;  how  could  he  miss  of  it,  the  dear  gentleman  ! 
an1  all  the  prayers  /say  for  him,  not  to  say  you  an' 


284 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    B  V    THE    B(.  VTNE. 


Miss  Lyddy  ?    Please  God,  hell  never  trouble  us  any 
more!1' 

"  I'm  sure  I  hope  so,  Nancy !"  would  Rose  reply 
and  there  the  whispered  consultation  would  end  for 
that  time,  to  be  renewed  at  the  first  opportunity.  It 
was,  however,  a  continual  source  of  trouble  and  of 
serious  apprehension  to  Nancy  that  a  Mass  had  not 
been  said  in  the  house,  and  she  was  free  to  give  her 
opinion  (only  to  Rose,  of  course,)  that,  "  there  was 
something  comin'  over  Miss  Lyddy,  God  help  her ! 
when  she  wouldn't  so  much  as  hear  to  bavin'  Father 
O'Regan  say  Mass  in  the  house.  If  only  herself  was 
in  it,  a  body  mightn't  wonder  so  much,  but  she  ought 
to  remember  that  there  was  others  in  it  that  didn'4 
fjrant  to  see  a  sperit  in  any  shape  or  form.'' 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  month  or  so  after  Giacomo's  departure,  the  Bro- 
digans,  father  and  daughters,  came  one  evening  to 
Miss  Ackland's,  the  father,  as  usual,  with  the  kind  in- 
tention of  cheering  the  aunt  and  niece  in  the  solitude 
from  which  he  and  his  amiable  wife  could  not  draw 
them  so  often  as  they  wished,  the  daughters  with  a 
little  private  object  of  their  own  which  the  reader 
will  presently  ascertain.  There  was  music,  as  usual, 
and  Rose  sang  at  her  aunt's  request,  with  her  guitar, 
a  pretty  ballad  just  then  new  and  popular— long  since 
passed  into  the  realm  of  things  forgotten,  beginning 
thus — 

"  Do  you  ever  think  of  me,  love. 
Do  y<»u  ever  Lb  ink  of  me, 
Wh-  n  I'm  faraway  from  thee,  love, 

With  my  bark  upon  iho  seal 
My  thoughts  are  ever  turning 

To  thee  where'er  I  roam, 
And  my  heart  is  ev«  r  yearnicg 
For  the  iflu'et  scenes  of  home." 

"  How  very  sweet !'  lisped  Jane  Brodigan  in  her 
sentimental  way,  "  and  haw  expressively  you  do  sing 
it,  Rose  !— Talking  of  being  'far  away,'  have  you 
heard,  Miss  Ackland,  that  our  handsome  Leghorner 
has  been  taking  a  wife  to  himself?" 


28G  TUE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    Tllfc    B0YNE. 

"  Why  no  ! — can  it  be  possible  ?" 

"Why  should  it  not  be  possible,  my  dear  Misa 
Ackland  ?''  said  Ann,  with  somewhat  more  than  her 
wonted  stiffness;  "  it  is  very  natural,  I  presume,  that 
Signor  Giacomo  Malvili  would  marry  one  time  «^r 
another, — most  young  men  do." 

"  Yes,  but  somehow  I  thought — I  thought  he  had 
no  idea  of  being  married  so  soon — and  if  it  were  sr 
I  thought  he  would  let  me  know  of  it." 

"  Oh  !  of  course,  you  would  expect  that,"  said  Miss 
Brodigan,  in  a  somewhat  softer  tone ;  she  and  every 
one  else  liked  Miss  Ackland,  even  those  who  could 
not  fully  appreciate  her;  "  considering  your  kindness 
to  him, — but  people  are  not  always  as  grateful  as  they 
should  be." 

"  Very  true,  my  dear  !  but  I  cannot  believe  that 
Giacomo  is  one  of  those  who  are  likely  to  forget 
friends  or  friendship." 

"  Believe  what  you  may,"  said  Ann,  drawing  her- 
self up,  "  I  have  reason  to  think  that  the  report  is 
true." 

"  But  how  did  you  come  to  hear  of  it,  Ann?"  said 
her  father,  who  had  heard  the  news  with  much  sur- 
prise. 

"  That  is  of  no  importance,  father  !  We  have  it 
on  good  authority.     Haven't  we,  Jane  ?" 

"  Oh  !  decidedly,  the  very  best  and  most  reliable. 
But,  my  dear  Rose  !  how  very  silent  you  are.  You 
do  not  seem  at  all  surprised." 

Hose  had  gone  to  the  piano,  and  was  busily  en 


THE    0M>    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  287 

gaged  looking  over  her  music  for  a  piece  she  wanted. 
She  answered  without  interrupting  her  employment — 
"  Surprised !  why  should  I  be  surprised  % — As  if  it 
was  any  wonder  to  hear  of  a  wedding  !  I  thought 
I  should  hear  of  one  soon  !  Dear  me  !  where  can 
that  Overture  to  Tancredi  be  .'  Aunt !  did  you  see 
it  lately  ?" 

"  No,  my  dear !  I  have  not  been  arranging  the 
music  for  some  days.  But,  my  dear  Miss  Brodigan ! 
do  you  think  it  is  really  true  that  Giacomo  is  mar- 
ried ?" 

"I  really  cannot  say,  Miss  Ackland!—  I  can  only 
repeat  that  we  have  the  news  from  good  authority." 

"  Who  is  that,  Ann?"  said  her  father. 

"  Tom  Lanigan,  father  ! — you  know  he  wouldn't  be 
likely  to  tell  a  falsehood." 

"  I  know  that,  but  how  did  he  hear  it  ?  Who  told 
him?' 

"  Well !  I  really  didn't  ask — only  he  had  reason  to 
think  it  was  true,  I  know  he  wouldn't  repeat  it." 

"It  is  very  strange,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  in  a  sort 
of  soliloquizing  tone;  "  it  was  one  of  the  last  things 
I  should  have  expected  to  hear." 

"  Oh  !  here  is  Tancredi"  said  Rose,  "  and,  Mr. 
Brodigan,  here  is  another  favorite  of  yours,  '  Miss 
Forbes'  Farewell  to  Banff,'  with  variations.  I  will 
play  that  first."     And  she  took  her  seat  at  the  piano. 

"  Don't  you  want  light  ?"  said  Ann  Brodigan,  tak- 
ing a  girandole  from  the  mantel-piece,  and  placing  it 
on  the  piano,  looking  full  in  Rose's  face  as  she  did  so. 


2SS  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

"  Thank  you,  Ann/'  said  Rose  very  quietly,  "  yo* 
are  always  so  very  considera'.e." 

"  Isn't  the  light  too  strong  for  you,  Rose  ?  You 
look  as  though  you  had  a  head-aehe." 

"  Oh  !  dear  me,  no  !  I  have  no  head-ache.  Thank 
you,  that  will  do  1" 

11  Don't  you  want  me  to  turn  over  the  leaves  ?" 

"  It  is  quite  unnecessary,  I  know  the  piece  so  well." 

Ann  Brodigan  resumed  her  seat,  glancing  at  her 
sister  with  an  expression  that  seemed  to  say — "  I 
really  can't  understand  her.     Can  you  ?" 

When  Rose  had  finished,  Mr.  Brodigan  said,  rising 
— "  Come,  girls,  let  us  be  off.  Your  mother  will  be 
alone,  for  the  young  ones  a:e  nil  a-bed  by  this  time." 
It  was  early  to  leave,  but  the  young  ladies  made  no 
objection,  so  they  all  bade  good  night  and  retired. 

When  they  were  gone.  Miss  Ackland  and  Rose  sat 
together  for  a  few  moments  in  silence ;  by  some  im- 
pulse perhaps  scarcely  known  to  herself,  Rose  moved 
nearer  to  her  aunt  and  looked  inquiringly  in  her  face. 
Miss  Ackland  laid  her  hand  on  her  head  and  smiled 
in  her  gentle,  quiet  way,  a  little  abstractedly,  Rose 
thought.  . 

"  Aunt !"  said  Rose  at  length,  "  do  you  think  Sig« 
nor  Giacorao  is  really  married  ?" 

"  He  may  be.  Rose ! — But  if  so.  it  is  not  what  I 
would  expect.  I  think  he  would  let  us  know  if  any 
guch  thing  were  in  contemplation. " 

"  Perhaps  yes, — perhaps  no,"  said  Rose  carelessly 
•  -"how  much  longer  do  you  intend  to  sit  up,  Aunt 


THE    OLD    HOTJSE    BY    THE    B0YNE. 


289 


Lyjia  ?— I  feel  tired  and  drowsy— I  think  I  will  go  to 

I  ed." 

''Very  wJl,  Rose!  ring  for  Nancy,  and  we  will 
get  our  prayers  said,  then  yon  can  go." 
3  When  the  piayers  were  OYer,  Miss  Ackland  said 
she  would  read  a  while,  before  going  up  stairs,  so  Rose 
took  her  night-light  and  left  the  room.  Closing  the 
parlor  door  after  her,  she  went  softly  to  the  kitchen, 
and  asked  Nancy  if  she  was  very  much  hurried  just 

then. 

"  Well  no  !  do  you  want  me  to  do  anything,  Miss 

Rosey  V" 

"  Only  to  come  up  and  sit  with  me,"  said  Rose 
almost  in  a  whisper;  "  my  aunt  is  not  coming  up  just 
yet,  and  I  don't  like  to  be  up  there  all  alone.  You 
know  that's  the  room  Captain  Melville  used  to  sleep 
in,  any  time  he  was  here  overnight." 

"  I  know,  dear  !  I  know,"  and  Nancy  nodded  and 
1  >okel  solemn;  "  I  don't  care  to  go  into  that  room 
myself  after  nightfall.  Ill  go  with  you  in  a  minute, 
when  I  fasten  the  doors  and  windows  down  here." 

So  the  doors  and  windows  being  made  fast,  the 
two  stole  past  the  parlor  door  and  up  stairs.  Nancy 
squatted  herself  on  the  carpet  while  her  young  lady  pre- 
p  red  for  bed,  talking  the  while  of  all  the  pleasant  days 
Bhe  used  to  have  when  the  old  house  was  blithe  and 
merry,  and  the  dead  alive,  a  id  the  careworn  and  sor- 
rowful young  and  gay.  But  she  carefully  avoided 
mentioning  one  name,  and  when  she  had  even  the 
most  distant  allusion  to  make  to  him  who  had  borne 


"90  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

it,  Rose  stopped  hor  with  a  terrified  "  Hush  !"  and 
both  looked  fearfully  round  into  those  corners  of  the 
large  room  where  the  light  did  not  fully  penetrate. 
It  might  have  been  expected  that  Rose  would  have 
told  her  faithful  old  confidant  of  the  news  Miss  Brod- 
igan  had  brought,  but  for  once  she  kept  something  to 
herself,  and  said  not  a  word  about  it,  probably  for- 
getting i.  a  together  in  the  engrossing  interest  with 
which  she  listened  to  Nancy's  reminiscences  of  old- 
time  life  in  the  old  house. 

A  door  was  heard  closing  down  stairs,  and  Rose  who 
was  now  in  bed,  made  a  sign  for  Nancy  to  hurry 
away ;  Nancy  was  not  slow  in  obeying,  both  hav- 
ing an  instinctive  fear  of  Miss  Ackland's  noticing 
their  newly-awakened  fears  concerning  the  ghost. 
But  Misj  Ackland,  coming  up  s'airs  at  the  time.  saw- 
Nancy  stealing  along  the  corridor,  though  Nancy  did 
not  sea  her,  and  guessing  at  once  how  matters  stood, 
she  could  not  help  laughing,  though  her  heart  was 
heavy  with  the  thoughts  th  t  ever  weighed  on  her 
mind  when  alone. 

Next  day  was  Saturday,  and  when,  at  one  o'clock, 
the  school  was  dismissed,  Miss  Ackland  proposed  to 
]£ose  that  they  sho.dd  walk  down  to  see  Mabel,  whom 
they  had  not  seen  for  some  weeks.  They  sat  long 
with  the  old  woman,  whom  they  found,  as  they  often 
did,  all  alone  in  the  cottage;  she  had  strange  news 
for  (hem — Major  Mellville  had  been  to  visit  her,  a 
day  or  two  before,  and  had  given  her  a  bright  gold 
sovereign,  which  she  showed  with  a  sort  of  hesita- 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  291 

iion,  as  though  she  were  half  afraid  that,  like  the  fairy 
gifts  of  her  own  stories,  it  might  turn  into  soma 
meaner  substance  for  the  showing.  But  the  gold 
was  "  good  red  gold."  and  proof  against  all  chances, 
and  there  was  no  getting  over  so  substantial  a  proof 
that  Major  Melville  had  really  found  old  Mabel  out, 
though  how  he  did  so,  or  from  what  motive,  even 
Miss  Ackland's  keen  wits  could  not  imagine. 

Like  one  in  a  dream,  she  rose  and  left  the  cottage, 
barely  bidding  Mabel  good-bye,  and  Rose  followed 
quickly,  telling  the  old  woman  that  they  would  soon 
come  again.  When  they  had  walked  a  little  way, 
Miss  Ack'and  said  to  Rose: 

"  What  can  this  mean  ?  I  cannot  understand  it. 
How  came  Guy  to  know  anything  of  Mabel,  and  why 
should  he  go  to  see  her  ?" 

"It  is  very  odd,  Aunt  Lydia !"  said  Rose  with  a 
more  thoughtful  air  than  usual ;  "  he  is  certainly  a 
strange  man,  though  he  does  not  look  so,"  she  added 
as  if  to  herself.     Then  both  were  silent. 

It  was  one  of  those  rich  mellow  evenings  which 
the  autumn  only  brings,  when  the  whole  earth  and 
the  boundless  fields  of  air  are  aglow  with  gold  and 
crimson,  and  nor  cloud  nor  cloudlet  skims  the  sur- 
face of  heaven's  bright  glorious  sea.  The  Boyne 
rippled  past  with  a  gentle  tremulous  motion, 

"  The  waters  c.ilui  r<  fleeting  bright, 
The  golden  glory  of  the  light," 

and  the  fair  scene  around  was  a  picture  of  tranquil 
beauty;  but,  each  absorbed  in  her  own  thoughts,  the 


292  THE   OLD   HOUSE   BY  tite   loyne. 

aunt  and  niece  little  heeded  the  smile  that  nature 
wore,  and  few  words  passed  between  them  till  they 
came  to  their  own  gate,  when  both  screamed  with 
surprise;  it  was  opened  by  Giacomo,  who  had  evi- 
dently been  awaiting  their  corning 

"  Why,  Giacomo,  is*  it,  can  it  be  possible  ?"  cried 
Miss  Ackland,  as  she  warmly  shook  him  by  the  nanct. 

"  Very  possible,  indeed,  Miss  Ackland ;  you  see  I 
am  back  sooner  than  I  expected. ' 

"Why  did  you  come?'  said  Rose  abruptly  and 
carelessly,  as  though  little  heeding  what  she  said. 
She  had  stumbled  going  up  the  first  steps,  and  Gia- 
como offered  his  arm,  which  she,  however,  declined 
with  a  grave  bow. 

Giacomo  smiled  at  the  question ;  it  was  so  charac- 
teristic :  "  An  event  of  some  importance  to  myself 
and  one  other,  at  least,  has  given  me  an  opportunity 
that  I  did  not  dare  to  expect." 

"  Oh  !  indeed  ?''  said  Rose  quickly  ;  "  I  guessed  a8 
much.1' 

"You  did  ;  and  pray  what  did  you  guess?" 

Before  Rose  could  answer  her  aunt  spoke — "  So  it 
U  true,  then,  what  we  heard  ?" 

"  That  I  cannot  tell  you,  my  dear  Miss  Ackland, 
till  you  have  told  me  what  it  was  that  you  heard." 

They  had  reached  the  top  of  the  steps,  and  the 
word  on  Miss  Ackland's  lips  was  charged  into  an 
exclamation  of  surprise.  A  strain  of  music  came 
from  the  house,  through  the  open  windows  of  the 
front  parlor — a  female  voice  low  and  sweet  singing 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  203 

to  the  tinkling  sound  of  the  guitar ;  both  the  ladies 
stopped  short  and  looked  at  each  other  in  amaze- 
ment 

"She  is  here,  then?"  said  Rose,  turning  full  on 
Giacomo. 

"  Who  is  here  ?" 

"  Your  wife." 

"  My  wife  !"  he  repeated,  with  a  start  of  surprise ; 
he  paused  a  moment,  then  said  laughing,  "  Oh  !  of 
course!— you  wouldn't  have  me  come  without  her, 
would  you  ?" 

The  hall-door  was  open,  and  Miss  Ackland  was 
already  at  the  parlor  door  which  she  hastily  threw 
open,  and  stood  looking  as  if  spell-bound  at  a  slight, 
delicate-looking,  and  very  lovely  girl  who  laid  down 
the  guitar  and  arose  to  meet  her. 

"  Miss  Ackland !"  said  a  gentle  voice  with  a  strong 
foreign  accent,  and  the  young  lady  advanced  like  one 
who  was  sure  of  a  cordial  greeting. 

But  Miss  Ackland  spoke  not ;  she  stood  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  fair  girl's  face,  her  whole  frame 
trembling,  and  her  pale  cheek  paler  still.  When 
Giacomo  came  near  where  she  stood,  she  cuight  him 
Dy  the  arm  and  hoarsely  whispered — "  Who  is  she  ?" 

"  His  wife  !"  said  Rose,  making  her  way  into  the 
•oom. 

"  My  sister  !"  said  Giacomo,  with  a  proud,  fond 
look  at  the  graceful,  fawn-like  creature  who  stood 
waiting  in  her  gentle  beauty  for  the  embrace  of  her 
brother's  frk»nd. 


294  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   Tllft    UOYNB. 

"  Your  sister  !— Maddalena  ?" 

"Yes,  Maddalena! — my  own,  my  only  sister!" 

No  mother  ever  welcomed  a  long-absent  child  to 
her  bosom  more  tenderly  than  Miss  Ackland  did 
that  fair  and  gentle  girl,  to  whom  her  innermost 
heart  was  at  once  thrown  open,  and  for  life ;  again 
and  again  she  pressed  her  to  her  heart,  and  kissed 
her  white  forehead  with  all  the  warmth  of  affection. 
Rose,  smiling  through  the  tears  of  joy  that  filled  her 
eyes,  reminded  her  aunt  that  it  was  her  turn  then, 
and  half  reluctantly,  as  it  seemed,  Miss  Ackland  re- 
signed Maddalena  to  her  sisterly  embrace,  whilst 
Giacomo  walked  to  the  window  to  hide  his  emotion. 

"  Dear  me ! '  said  Rose,  as  she  wiped  away  her 
tears,  "who'd  have  thought  it? — oh'  you  naughty, 
naughty  Signor  !"  shaking  her  little  hand  at  Giacomo, 
"how  dare  you  play  such  a  trick  on  us?'7' 

"  Trick !  what  trick  did  I  play  ?  Did  I  tell  you  I 
was  married,  or  that  Maddalena  was  my  wife  ?' 

"  Well!  ii',  I  believe  you  did  not — but  then  you 
allowed  us  t )  think  so." 

"  I  knew  of  old  that  there  would  be  little  use  in 
trying  to  restrain  your  thoughts,  Miss  Rose !" 

"  Or  my  tongue,  either,  I  suppose  yru  would  say  ! 
How  very  polite  your  brother  is,  Signora  Maddalena !'' 

"  Polite  !  oh  yes,  Giacomo  is  very  polite,"  and  the 
sisler  smiled  fondly  on  her  brother;  she  took  Rose's 
compliment  in  good  faith. 

Miss  Ackland  seemed  scarcely  conscious  of  what 
was  passing ;  she  was  watching  Maddalena  with  an 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOVNE.         295 

expression  of  eager  curiosity  on  her  calm  f.ice ;   at 
length  she  asked  Giacomo  who  his  sister  was  like. 

"  I  "believe  she  resembles  my  father,"  he  replied, 
"  as  I  do  my  mother.  Maddalena  has  my  father's 
complexion,— a  very  fair  one,  as  you  may  perceive, 
and  very  uncommon  amongst  our  country  people." 

;'  Then  your  father  must  be  h  ndsome  ?''  s  -.id  Rose, 
at  which  Giacomo  smiled,  and  Maddahna  eagerly 
replied  in  her  sweet,  simple,  earnest  way — 

"  Oh  yes  !  my  father  is  handsome,  very,  very  hand- 
some." 

"  So  you  say,  mia  cara,"  said  Giacomo  smiling,  then 
turning  to  Miss  Ackland  he  added,  "  you  see  my 
little  sister  has  an  extraordinary  good  orinion  of  her 
father  and  brother !— I  believe  she  thinks  nobody 
ever  had  such  a  father  and  brother  as  she  has." 

"Dear  child!"  said  Miss  Ackland,  smoothing  down 
the  girl's  fair  tresses. 

"  But  you  don't  ask  me,"  said  Giacomo,  "  why  Mad- 
dalena came?" 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  "  it  is  sufficient  for  us 
to  know  that  she  is  here." 

"  Yes,  but  you  ought  to  know  why  she  came. 
My  father  is  anxious  that  she  shotdd  spend  some 
time  wi'h  you,  as  a  pupil,  my  dear  Miss  Ackland  !— 
he  wishes  her  to  prosecute  her  English  studies,  in 
which  she  is  rather  backward.  She  is  to  speak,  or 
write  nothing  but  English.  Will  you  take  her  as  a 
boarder  and  a  pupil  ?" 

u  As  a  friend,  as  a  daughter— as  your  sister,  Gia 


296  THE    OLT)    HOUSE    DY   ITIE    BOYNE. 

como  !"  And  agiin  Miss  Ackland  kissed  Madda 
lena's  fair  brow,  and  welcomed  her  to  Drogheda, 
apologizing  for  not  having  done  so  before. 

"And  now,  Rose,"  said  she,  "  you  will  take  Mad- 
dalena  up  stairs ;  she  can  share  your  room  for  the 
present,  as  she  might  be  lonely  in  a  strange  house, 
and  I  will  resign  you  to  her." 

"The  very  thing,"  said  Rose  joyfully;  "come 
along  Maddalena!  Oh  !  how  happy  I  am  to  have  a 
companion  of  my  own  age  !"  she  added  as  they 
went  up  stairs  arm  in  arm.  "  Do  you  know,  Mad- 
oalena,  I  never  had  one  before." 

"  Nor  I,  any  more,"  said  Maddalena  in  her  imper* 
feet  English ;  "  ever  since  my  mother  is  dead,  I  have 
only  my  father  and  Giacomo  for  company." 

"  Oh  !  I  was  not  so  bad  as  that — my  mother  died, 
it  is  true,  when  I  was  very  young,  but  I  have  always 
had  my  dear  aunt ;  still  I  have  often  wished  for  a 
younger  and  gayer  companion,  for  Aunt  Lydia  is,  at 
times,  in  poor  spirits,  and  then  I  find  it  very  dull  in 
this  old  house  of  ours." 

"  Oh  !  it  is  a  dear  old  house;  I  like  it  before  I  see 
it,  because  my  brother,  he  like  it,  oh  !  very  much." 

"Indeed?" 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  better  than  our  own  at  home,  I 
think;  he  wanted  so  much  to  come  back,  but  he 
would  not  ask  my  father ;  and  he  was  glad,  so  glad 
I  cannot  tell  you  when  my  father  he  tell  him  tc  cake 
me  here." 

"  And  were  you  glad  V* 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         297 

"  Yes,  I  was  glad,  too ;  I  wanted  so  much  to  see 
Miss  Ackland,  my  brother's  Miss  Ackland — and  you, 
too,  Signora  Rosa !" 

"  Don't  call  me  Signora — call  me  Rose — you  see  I 
call  you  Maddalena." 

"  Very  well !  I  will  do  it  as  you  say.  I  wanted 
much,  very  much,  to  see  you  and  Miss  Ackland — - 
and  old  Nancy.  I  wanted  to  see  yo.ir  cat,  too — 
your  cat  Tabby,  you  know — but  Giacomo  told  me 
she  was  dead,  poor  cat !  And  old  Nan  y,  when  I 
speak  of  her,  she  nearly  cry,  before  you  came  in." 

In  such  a  pleasant  chat  the  girls  passed  the  time, 
sitting  by  a  window,  till  Miss  Ackland  came  up  to 
say  that  te.i  was  ready,  and  they  all  three  went  down 
together.  How  pleasant  it  wis  when  they  took  their 
seats  around  the  table  in  the  early  twilight  of  Sep- 
tember's last  days,  Maddalena  at  Miss  Ackland's 
right  hand,  opposite  Rose  and  Giacomo  for  the 
fourth  at  the  small  square  table,  all  around,  so  neat, 
bo  cozy%  as  Rose  said,  an  1  the  evening  star  shedding 
its  feint  silvery  light  into  the  apartment,  through  an 
opening  in  the  purple  clouds  tha'.  were  draping  the 
western  sky  in  regal  splendor. 

l-  What  a  beautiful  star  !"  said  Giacomo,  pointing 
to  the  fair  planet. 

"Perhaps  our  dear  father  sees  it  now,  Giacomo?'' 
asked  his  sister.     "  I  am  sorry  he  is  all  alone." 

"  Ton  are  a  good  girl,  Maddalena !"  said  Misa 
Ackland,  who  followed  with  increasing  interest  the 
words  and  ways  of  her  interesting  visitor.     "  I  see 


29S  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

you  are  not  disposed  to  forget  the  absent.  Don't 
y  >u  think,  Giacomo,  that  your  father  will  miss  Mad- 
daleua  very  much  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I  dare  say  he  will,  but  only  for  a'ittle  while  ; 
i  am  not  sure  that  he  would  miss  any  one  for  very 
long." 

"  Oh !  Giacomo,  how  can  you  say  so  ?"  cried  his 
sister,  her  delicate  cheek  all  a-glow  ;  "  that  is  not  right. 
My  father  will  be  sad,  very  sad  for  you  and  me.  I 
know  he  will." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  him,  then,  mia  cara"  said 
Giacomo  carelessly,  as  he  finished  his  tea.  "  Miss 
Ackland,  shall  we  not  go  out  on  the  esplanade  ?  it  is 
a  pity  to  be  in-doors  such  a  lovely  evening." 

The  proposal  was  agreeable  to  all,  but  as  the  even- 
ing was  chill  Rose  ran  up  stairs  to  fetch  some  muf- 
fling ;  Nancy  came  in  just  then  to  remove  the  tea- 
things,  and  when  her  eyes  fell  on  the  Italian  girl  whom 
she  had  only  seen  before  with  her  bonnet  on  and  her 
back  to  the  light — she  started,  looked  at  Miss  Ack- 
land, and  came  near  dropping  the  tray  she  had  lifted 
from  the  table. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Nancy  ?"  inquired  Giacomo, 
noticing  her  agitation. 

"  Oh !  nothing,"  said  Miss  AcklanoV,  endeavoring  to 
e  itch  her  eye  ;  "  she  is  subject  to  fi:s  of  nervous  ex 
c'tement." 

"  Fits,  Miss  Lyddy  !  is  it  me  subject  to  fits  ?"  said 
the  old  woman  somewhat  testily  ;  "  no,  nor  the  sorra 
fit  ever  /  was  subject  to.     It's  the  likeness  I  see  in 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    DY    THE    BOYXE.  291) 

that  young  lady — Master  Jacomy's  sister  there,  that 
put  me  a  little  through-olher.*     Fits,  indeed  ?" 

"  Why,  who  is  she  like  ?"  said  Giacomo. 

"  Nancy,'  said  Miss  Ackland,  "  you  are  forgetting 
what  you  came  in  for.  Remove  the  tea-things  now, 
and  you  can  talk  of  this  again." 

"  I  will,  Miss  Lyddy  ."  but  turning  her  eyes  again  on 
Maddalena,  who  was  now  smiling  at  the  old  woman's 
earnestness,  "  it's  mighty  quare,  so  it  is, — I  never 
seen  two  faces  more  like  one  another  !  sure  it's  his 
own  smile  she  has  —  I'd  know  it  if  I  seen  her  in  Amer- 
ica bey ant !" 

Rose  came  in  with  the  shawls  and  bonnets,  and 
Nancy  went  out  with  her  tray.  Miss  Ackland  took 
occasion  to  glide  int  J  the  kitchen  on  her  way  out,  and 
whispered  to  Nancy — "  What  put  it  in  your  head  to 
talk  so  ?  Let  us  hear  no  more  of  that  likeness,  for 
you  only  imagine  it,  after  all." 

"  And  what  harm  is  it  to  spake  of  it,  Miss  Lyddy  ?" 
said  Nancy,  still  on  her  mettle;  "I  don't  see  what 
harm  there's  in  it,  that  a  body  need  talk  of  one  havin 
fits, — a  thins*  that  no  one  belongin'  to  me  ever  had — 
no,  not  one  of  my  breed,  seed,  or  generation  ever  had 
a  fit,  that  ever  I  hard  tell  of.  As  for  the  young  lady, 
she  is  like  Captain  Melville,  and  that's  all  about  it !" 

"  I  know  she  is,  but  you  know  I  do  not  like  to 
have  his  name  brought  in,  at  all,  amongst  people  that 
never  knew  him.  So  you  will  remember  what  I  tell 
you.     As  for  the  fits,  you  entirely  mistook  my  mean- 

Anglice  ! — :<  made  me  a  ILtle  confusi  d.'" 


300         THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

ing—  -I  will  tell  you  another  time  what  I  meant."    She 
harried  away  without  waiting  for  an  answer. 

When  Miss  Ackland  reached  the  esplanade,  Rosa 
was  singing — 

"  Tis  the  first  star  of  evening, 
So  lovely  and  clear  — 
Hasten  home  from  the  mountains, 
My  own  muleteer ! 

"  At  the  door  of  thy  cottage, 
O'erhung  by  the  grove, 
Is  waiting  to  meet  thee 
The  bride  of  thy  love. 

"  Yes,  my  fond  heart  expects  thee, 
It  wishes  thee  here, 
Hasten  home  from  the  mountains, 
My  own  muleteer ! 

"*Tis  his  foim  on  ihe  moun'ain, 
His  loved  voice  I  h  ar, 
Welcome  home,  fondly  welcome, 
My  own  muleteer !" 

She  was  sitting  near  the  top  of  the  steps,  with 
Middalena  by  her  side,  and  on  the  next  step  above 
them  sat  Giacomo,  listening  to  the  song,  his  eyes 
fixed  dreamily  on  the  silvery  star  that  now  shone  out 
from  the  deep  blue  sky  of  night  like  a  diamond  on 
the  brow  of  some  dark  eastern  queen.  The  group 
was  a  fine  one,  and  Miss  Ackland  stopped  at  a  little 
distance  to  contemplate  the  picture  before  she  ad- 
vanced, thinking  the  while  of  just  such  scenes  in  the 
long-past  years  when  hope  was  fresh  and   life  was 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY     THE    JJOYNE.  301 

young,  and  the  future  bright  as  summer  skies  at 
even.  Strange  to  herself  it  was  that  even  then  her 
Ryes  rested  longest  on  Maddalena  where  she  sat  in 
the  bright  star-light  with  her  arm  resting  on  Rose's 
shoulder,  and  the  delicate  outline  of  her  face  dimly 
seen  in  profile. 

Next  day,  after  school.  Rose  Ackland  went  to  pay 
a  visit  to  her  friends,  the  Brodigans,  while  her  aunt 
took  Maddalena  for  a  walk  by  the  river  side.  Gia- 
como  had  business  to  transact  during  the  afternoon, 
but  had  promised  to  come  in  the  evening,  so  Rose 
went  to  ask  the  Brodigans  to  spend  the  evening,  in 
order  to  treat  them  10  a  surprise.  They  had  not 
heard  of  Giacomo's  arrival,  and  Rose  took  good  care 
that  they  should  not  hear  it  from  her. 

It  was  amusing,  therefore,  to  see  the  astonishment 
of  the  sisters,  in  particular,  when,  on  entering  Mis3 
Acklands  parlor,  the  first  they  saw  was  Giacomo. 

"  Why,  Signor  !  you  here  ? — is  it  possible  ?"  cried 
Ann. 

"  Dear  me  !  I  am  so  surprised  !"  lisped  Jane. 
"Who  in  the  world  world  have  thought  to  see  you 
back  so  soon  ?" 

"  Upon  my  wrord,  I  m  delighted  to  see  you  ! — 
Come  on  your  wedding-tour,  eh  ?"  was  Mr.  Brodi- 
g  n's  hearty  salutation. 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  Giacomo  laughing  ;  "  ladies  !" 
to  the  Misses  Brodigan, "  permit  me  to  introduce  my 
sister  !"  he  saw  that  the  shrinking  girl  was  an  object 
of  great  curiosity  to  the  sisters. 


302  THE    OLD    IIOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

"  Youv  sister!"  exclaimed  Ann  and  Jane  together, 
it  almost  seemed  as  though  they  were  disappointed. 
"  Then  you  are  not  married  after  all  ?" 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,  although  it  really  does  ap- 
pear as  if  some  one  here  hid  been  marrying  me 
without  my  knowledge  or  consent." 

"  Quite  a  coincidence  !"  said  Mr.  Brodigan,  rubbing 
his  hands ;  he  rather  enjoyed  the  bewilderment  of 
his  daughters,  that  was  plain. 

"  As  how,  Mr.  Brodigan  ?r  said  Giacomo. 

u  Why,  your  sister  coming  back  with  you  at  this 
particular  time,  when  people  here  would  all  have  it 
that  you  were  married." 

"  Not  all  the  people  here,  Mr.  Brodigan,"  said  Miss 
Ackland  smiling — "  I  for  one  did  not  believe  it." 

"  Did  you  believe  it  ?"  said  Giacomo  in  an  under- 
tone to  Rjse. 

"  Of  course — why  should  I  not? — Ann  Brodigan 
told  it  as  a  fact." 

"  And  you  believed  her?" 

"  I  told  you,  yes!     Why  do  you  ask  ?" 

"  Because  I  gave  you  credit  for  more  penetration.'1 

"Well!  don't  give  me  credit  for  anything  in 
future." 

Harry  Cusack  just  then  made  his  appearance, 
whereupon  the  sisters  brightened  up,  and  the  conver- 
sation became  general. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

It  was  night,  an  Italian  night,  and  the  air  wai 
heavy  with  the  rich  perfumes  of  southern  gardens  in 
their  autumnal  bloom;  through  the  open  windows  of 
a  first  floor  apartment  in  Leghorn  the  breath  of  the 
1  myrtle  and  the  acacia  was  wafted  in  from  the  garden 
on  which  the  room  opened  by  a  glass  door  in  the 
centre,  and  the  light  branches  of  the  overhanging 
creepers  were  traced  in  shadowy  outlines  on  the  tes- 
selated  floor ;  the  waning  moon  was  declining  in  the 
heavens,  and  her  gentle  light  streamed  in  with  mellow 
radiance,  full,  bright  and  yellow,  for  it  was  the  Har- 
vest Moon. 

A  solitary  watcher  was  in  the  room,  reading  at  a 
table  by  the  flickering  light  of  a  lamp.  One  who  has 
seen  him  before  can  easily  recognize  him  again ;  it  is 
Signer  Malvili,  the  father  of  Giacomo  and  Madda- 
lena,  now  alone  in  the  solitude  of  his  quiet  dwelling. 
The  night  wore  on  and  still  he  read,  absorbed,  it 
would  seem,  in  the  volume  before  him,  old  Froissart's 
delightful  "  Chronicles." 

At  length  he  cosed  the  book,  and  looking  at  hia 
watch,  started  to  find  that  the  night  was  already  fir 
spent ;  he  arose,  went  to  the  door  and  stood  awhile 
looking   out    on  the    trees    and    the   flowers  of  hia 


304  THE    OLD    LIOJSK     BY    I1IK    UOl'NB. 

garden,  and  the  grass-grown  alleys  half  seen,  half  hid 
in  the  yellow  light.  He  looked  up  to  the  moonlit 
sky  and 

"  Thai,  spangled  heawns,  a  shining  fram3" 

which,  to  all  the  generations  of  men, 

"  Their  Great  Original  proclaim." 

His  heart  was  uplifted  to  the  Author  of  creation;  he 
was  well  accustom'd  to  "  look  thro'  Nature,  up  to 
nature's  God,"  for  he  had  studied  that  noble  science  in 
a  noble  school;  he  had  "  been  down  to  the  sea  in  ships, 
and  had  seen  the  wonders  of  the  Lord  on  the  great 
deep."  Then  he  thought  of  times  long  past  when  be 
was  wont  to  exchange  his  thoughts  and  feelings  with 
one  whom  he  loved,  and  by  whom  he  thought  him- 
self beloved.  He  thought  of  the  rude  shock  that  had 
dispelled  his  youth's  bright  dreams,  and  left  his  life 
to  the  dull  routine  of  duty.  Throwing  himself  on  a 
sofa,  he  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hands  and  lay 
amid  the  shadows  of  the  past,  unconscious  of 
the  flight  of  time,  till  warned  by  the  clock 
striking  the  third  hour  of  morning,  when  he  slowly 
arose,  and  muttering  to  himself—"  Can  it  be  true 
what  they  tell  me?  shall  I  not  have  parted  with  my 
darling  child  in  vain  ?  God  knows  !  God  only  knows !" 
he  lit  his  night-lamp  which  stood  on  a  small  table  at 
the  further  end  of  the  room,  and  after  fastening  the 
door  and  the  windows,  extinguished  the  lamp  on  the 
centre-table  and  went  up  stairs.  There  was  a  beauti- 
ful Madonna  in  his  chamber,  a  small  cabinet  picture 


TIIE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TIIE    BOYNE.  305 

painted  by  some  old  master;  it  might  have  been  the 
blessed  Fra  Angelico  himself,  so  ineffable,  so  divine 
was  the  expression,  or  Raffaelo,  in  the  graceful  air 
of  the  head,  the  pose,  as  painters  are  wont  to  term 
it.  It  was  before  this  exquisite  picture  of  Our  Lady 
that  Signor  Malvili  usually  said  his  night  and  morn- 
ing prayers,  and  if  that  image  could  have  spoken  it 
could  have  told  the  story  of  his  life  for  many  a  year 
past.  When  he  knelt  before  it  that  night,  or  rather 
morning,  in  the  dimly  lighted  room,  it  seemed  to  him 
as  though  the  gracious  countenance  wore  a  sweeter 
smile  even  than  usual,  and  a  tenderer  look  of  maternal 
love  and  pity  beamed  from  the  sad,  soft  eyes.  A 
feeling  of  peace,  that  was  almost  joy,  took  possession 
of  the  soul  of  that  pilgrim  of  life,  who  knelt  so 
lovingly,  so  trustingly  there,  and  from  that  hour,  he 
felt  no  more  as  he  had  felt,  the  bitterness  was  gone, 
and  the  sweetness  of  hope  came  again,  not  as  of  old, 
but  yet  soothing  and  encouraging  to  the  heart  that 
had  long  ceased  to  look  forward  to  aught  that  was  of 
earth.  His  dreams  that  night  were  pleasant :  Mad- 
dalena  was  there,  and  Giacomo,  and  one  other  long 
lost  and  dead  to  him,  and  all  were  glad  and  happy 
wandering  together  in  some  far  bright  land  of  dreams 
where  music  of  celestial  sweetness  floated  round,  and 
light  ami  joy  and  beauty  seemed  to  reign  forever. 

A  few  more  lonely  days  passed  slowly  by,  mado 
duller  and  sadder  in  the  house  by  the  sullen  looks  of 
old  Nannetta,  who  could  not  forgive  her  master  for 
sending  her  young  mistress  so  far  away  from  home  ; 


306         THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

bluff  Paolo  himself  looked  disconsolate,  and  little 
Giulia  smiled  no  more ;  the  sunshine  appeared  to  have 
vanished  from  every  heart.  Maddalena's  bird  sat  all 
day  long  motionless  in  his  cage,  tuneful  now  no  lon- 
ger, and  the  very  cat  had  ceased  to  purr;  the  house 
was  silent  as  the  grave. 

But  the  master  of  the  house  was  neither  so  sad/ 
nor  gloomy  as  usual,  and  hj  smiled  often  to  himself, 
thinking  how  bright  and  joyous  all  would  be  again 
when  his  Maddalena  came  home,  and  Giacomo, — 
and  —  who  else  ?  —  he  asked  himself,  then  smiled 
ag^in,  and  went  on  his  way,  almost  rejoicing.  For 
so  lonely  a  man,  and  one  outwardly  so  calm  and  cold, 
he  enjoyed  much  of  the  sunshine  of  the  heart  at  that 
particular  time,  though  why  it  was  so,  was  not  very 
clear  to  himself. 

One  day  Signor  Malvili  received  a  letter  from  Gia- 
como inclosing  one  from  Maddalena;  the  latter  drew 
tears  from  his  eyes,  though  little  given  was  he  to  the 
melting  mood.  Maddalena's  letter,  which  was  in 
Italian,  ran  as  follows  : 

"My  Dearest  Father: — I  cannot  tell  you  hovv 
sorry  I  am  to  be  away  so  very  far  from  you ;  I  hope 
you  are  not  so  sorry  for  your  poor  Maddalena's  ab- 
sence as  she  is  for  yours.  But  I  am  glad  to  be  here, 
if  you  were  only  with  me,  for  I  do  so  love  Giacomo's 
Miss  Ackland,  and  I  like  Miss  Rose  very  much, 
though  not  half  so  well  as  I  do  her  aunt.  Oh  !  if  you 
only  know  Miss  Ackland  !  I  am  sure  you  would  love 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TTIE    BOYNE. 


307 


her  dearly ;  she  is  so  sweet  to  look  at,  and  I  love  to 
hear  her  speak.     I  never  saw  any  one  like  her,— not 
for  that  she  is  so  handsome,  -but  so  gentle  and  so 
graceful.     I  fancy  she  is  like  some  pictures  I  have 
seen  of  our  sweet  Madonna.     Oh !  I  wish  you  knew 
her !     Could  you  not  come  and  see  us  while  I  am 
here  ?     I  should  like  you  to  see  the  old  house,  and 
the  garden,  and  everything ;  it  is  so  nice,  and  quiet, 
with  such  an  old-fashioned  look  all  about  it.     Do  try 
and  come  !     I  cannot  be  happy  when  I  think  that  I 
shall  not  see  my  dearest  father  for  a  long  time. 
u  Ever  your  own 

"  Mapdalena." 

The  father,  much  affected,  laid  down  the  letter, 
and,  resting  his  head  on  his  hand,  remained  awhile  in 
deep  thought,  his  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy ;  at  length  he 
started,  and  took  up  Giacomo's  letter,  which  was  writ- 
ten  in  English.  He  had  not  read  far  when  he  began 
to  laugh,  and  laughed  as  he  had  not  laughed  for  many 
a  long  year ;  this  was  the  passage  of  the  letter  that 
excited  his  risible  faculties  : 

«  Our  little  Maddalena  is  delighted  with  the  old 
house,  but  she  would  not  be  quite  so  taken  with  it 
did  she  know  what  I  know  about  it,  or  rather  what 
old  Nancy  knows.  It  appears  the  house  is  haunted 
by  the  ghost  of  a  certain  Captain  Melville  who  used 
to  be  aVisitor  here  a  very  long  time  ago,  and  who 
was  actually  seen  by  Miss  Ackland  not  many  weeks 
eince  ■  so  the  old  woman  told  me  in  confidence,  and 


308  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE. 

she  further  informed  me  that  '  Miss  Rosey'  is  just  as 
much  afraid  as  she  is  herself,  only  they  du&rCt  let  on 
to  Miss  Lyddyl  As  yet  Maddalena  is  not  in  the 
secret,  as  Nancy  says  '  the  poor  thing'  would  be 
frightened  out  of  her  wits  if  she  only  knew  it." 

When  Signor  Malvili  having  enjoyed  his  laugh, 
had  regained  his  usual  composure,  he  glanced  once 
more  over  the  letter,  and  he  repeated  to  himself — 
"  They  hide  their  fears  from  her,  though  it  was  she 
who  saw  the — the  ghost ;  then  she  does  not  fear  the 
apparition."  There  was  a  subdued  tenderness  in  his 
tone,  and  a  soft  emotion  in  his  eyes,  that  seemed 
foreign  to  his  character,  and  indicated  a  new  train 
of  thought ;  he  arose  and  made  several  turns  to  and 
fro  across  the  room — stopped  at  the  window  and 
looked  out,  though  little  heeding,  it  would  seem, 
what  was  passing  in  the  street  below;  neither  did 
the  beauty  of  the  Fright  autumnal  day  arrest  his  eye; 
his  thoughts  were  far  distant,  and  there  was  a  strange 
trouble  in  his  look  and  on  his  face  that  grew  into  a 
calm  and  settled  determination;  he  smiled,  then,  and 
drew  himself  up  as  one  who  had  gained  a  victory 
over  some  ancient  enemy  within  himself,  or  had  cast 
off  a  weary  load  that  for  long  had  crushed  the  heart 
within  him.  He  took  another  letter  from  his  pocket, 
one  he  had  received  some  days  before,  and  he  said 
half  aloud  as  his  eye  ran  over  the  lines : 

"  How  much  of  his  boyish  temperament  still  re- 
mains, and  how  many  of  his  boyish  peculiarities ! 
\nd  I  shall  see  him,  too!     I  wonder  what  he  looks 


TIIE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   TIIE    BOYNE.  309 

like  now !  How  my  heart  swells  at  the  thought  of 
seeing  them  all  once  again !"  Then  he  added,  after 
a  pause — "Whoever  told  me  this  a  year  ago,  how  1 
would  have  scouted  the  idea!1' 

The  evening  of  that  day  came  on  gray  and  gusty, 
such  as  we  often  see  in  the  early  autumn,  when  "  the 
melancholy  days"  are  drawing  near,  and  the  year  is 
passing  into  the  sear  and  yellow  leaf.  Signor  Malvili 
loved  such  cloudy  skies,  such  boisterous  weather,  bet- 
ter than  the  brightness  of  summer  or  the  fair  promise 
of  spring,  for  he  had  been  a  sailor  in  his  youth,  and 
the  sailor's  instincts  were  yet  strong  within  him.  He 
loved  to  wander  on  the  shore  when  the  winds  were 
abroad,  and  the  billows  surged  and  heaved,  and  the 
curlew  shrieked  among  the  rocks ;  such  an  evtning 
was  that  which  followed  the  receipt  of  those  let- 
ters, and  he  strolled  down  to  the  beach  an  hour  or  so 
before  sundown,  to  enjoy  the  wild  commotion  of  the 
elements,  and  admire  the  dread  Omnipotence  of  Him 
who  commands  both  wind  and  wave.  Walking  slowly 
along  the  beach,  the  waves  at  times  almost  wash- 
ing his  feet,  he  pondered  over  the  years  of  his  life, 
the  various  phases  through  which  that  life  had  passed, 
and  the  causes  that  had  produced  the  most  import- 
ant results.  One  scene  of  the  past  was  before  him, 
as  it  often  was ;  the  recollection  of  it  had  many  a  time 
raised  a  tumult  in  his  soul  that  only  the  voice  of  reli- 
gion could  calm,  and  that  only  after  a  hard  struggle, 
Now  in  silence  and  in  solitude,  w7ith  only  the  voice 
of  winds  and  waters  in  his  ear,  and  the  lowering 


310  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

Bky  and  the  angry  sea  before  liim,  the  salutary 
thoughts,  the  gentler  emotions  of  the  morning  came 
back  again,  and  he  asked  himself  "  What  am  I  that 
I  should  be  so  hard,  so  unforgiving  ?     Have  I  not 

borne what  ?  oh  !  never  hatred — but  anger,  long 

enough  ?  and  now  when  I  have  reason  to  think  that 
I  was  mistaken,  after  all,  why  not  acknowledge  my 
fault,  and  know  again  the  calm  delight  of  friendship 
—friendsliip" — he  repeated,  and  he  smiled  ;  Cl  how 
oddly  the  word  sounds  in  that  connection.  Friend- 
ship ! — ay  !  what  more  could  I  expect  ?  Even  that 
would  be  far  beyond  my  deserts.  Then  suppose  not 
even  that  were  given  me — suppose  I  were  regarded 
still  as  worse  than  a  stranger,  and  that  the  last  spark 
of  affection  had  died  out  in  that  heart,  if  it  ever 
really  loved  me,  as  I  once  dared  to  hope — suppose 
my  reappearance  should  only  bring  back  unpleasant 
recollections,  and  disturb  the  even  tenor  of  a  calm 
and  tranquil  life — ah !  if  it  proved  so,  how  could  I 
bear  it? — how  could  I  forgive  myself  for  the  folly  of 
which  I  had  been  guilty  ?  No  !  I  will  not  do  it — I 
will  not  run  the  risk  of  failure,  where  failure  were  so 
destructive  of  all  my  earthly  peace,  and  probably  the 
peace  and  happiness  of  my  children.  I  am  quiet 
now,  if  not  happy,  and  I  will  endeavor  to  rest 
content." 

At  that  moment,  a  ray  of  sunshine  broke  through 
the  clouds  westward,  and,  as  if  by  magic,  the  sea  was 
covered  with  a  golden  glory,  the  tall,  bare  masts  of 
the  ships  in  harbor,  and  their  sailless  rigging  were 

f 

i 


THE  OLD  nOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         31 1 

t/.nted  with  the  richest  crimson,  and  the  city  itself 
was  all  a-slow  with  the  flush  of  sunset.  "  Ha  !"  said 
Malvili,  still  soliloquizing,  "  Heaven  itself  clears  up 
my  doubts — T  will  take  that  splendid  flash  of  sunlight 
as  a  favorable  augury,  and  I  will  hope  all  things — all  I 
even  my  life  may  have  its  flash  of  sunlight  before  its 
evening  darkens  into  the  night  of  age.  Courage, 
mon  ccBur,  courage .'"  The  sunset  was  still  gilding 
the  dome  of  the  Turkish  mosque  and  all  its  taper 
minarets,  and  resting  lovingly  on  the  spires  of  the 
Christi  m  temples,  when  the  lonely  watcher  by  the 
sea  turned  his  steps  homewards,  a  new  hope,  a  new 
energy  suddenly  alive  within  him,  sending  the  life- 
blood  qiicker  through  his  veins,  and  flushing  his 
cheek  again  with  the  long-vanished  hues  of  youth. 
The  darkness  and  the  storm  were  over. 

That  night  old  Nancy  hnd  boen  entertaining  the 
young  people  in  the  old  house  by  the  Boyne  with 
some  of  her  old-time  stories ;  to  Maddalena  they 
were  all  new,  and  Maddalena,  simple  child,  loving 
the  marvellous,  was  more  than  all  delighted.  Then 
for  the  first  time,  she  heard  of  the  fairies,  their 
gay  revels  on  the  velvet  sward,  their  moonlight 
rides  and  the  gallant  show  they  make  winding  on 
their  way  through  the  forest  glades,  and  by  the  sil- 
very streams,  and  along  the  green  hill-sides  of  that 
old  land  of  beauty  and  romance,  the  home  of  the 
Western  Gael.  Of  the  tricks  they  love  to  play  on 
mortals,  sometimes  in  sport,  sometimes  in  malice,  and 


SI 2  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

the  wonders  of  their  enchanted  halls  at  times  revealed 
to  nortal  ken.     Of  divers  mid  wives  and  nurses  Mad- 
dalena heard  with  amazement,  who  had  been  carried 
off  bodily  to  minister  in  their  respective  capacities  to 
the  wives  and  children  of  fairy-land.     This  was  the 
hardest   trial  of  all   to   Maddalena's  credulity,  but 
Nancy  assured  her  that  "the  good  people"  did  re- 
quire mid  wives  and  nurses,  for  had  not  such  and  such 
a  one  of  her  acquaintance  been  "  taken  away"  for  the 
very  purpose,  and  the  Italian  girl  was  fain  to  believe 
her,  wondering  much   the  while  how  such   things 
could  be*     Of  the  leprachaun  and  the  wild  phooka 
she  heard,  and  the  banshee,  and  many  other  sprites 
of  greater   and   lesser   renown   amongst  the  tribes 
of  fairydom,  and   Maddalena  began   to   think  that 
people  in  Ireland  were  singularly  favored  in  living 
amongst  such  delightful  creatures  as  the  fairies,  with 
a  chance  of  obtaining  admission,  now  and  then,  to 
tiieir  gorgeous  palaces  within  the  ancient  raths,  and 
of  hearing  their  charmed  music  in  the  stillness  of  the 
night.     Then  the  gifts  they  gave  to  their  favorites 
amongst  mortals  !  the  wedding  presents  and  christen- 
iag  presents,  rewards  of  industry,  and  all  the  rest! 
Who  would  not  wish  to  be  the  recipient  of  fairy 
bounty  ?     So  Maddalena  said  ;    and  Rose  laughed, 
and  Giacomo  and  Miss  Ackland  smiled  at  her  simple 
earnestness.     She,    at     least,    had    none    of    those 
u  wretched  doubtings"  which  the  poet  pathetically 
accuser  of  having  "banished 


TTIE    OLD    HOUSE    EY    THE    BOYNE.  313 

A.11  the  gracrfnl  spirit  people,  children  of  the  far  h  and  s.a, 
Whom  in  days  now  dim  and  old<m,  wh<m  the  world  was  fresh 
and  golden, 
Every  mortal  could   Ik  hold  in  haunted   lath,  and  lo«er,  and 
tree."* 
"  Well !"  said  Rose,  regaining  her  composure,  "  I 
like  the  fairies,  too,  Maddalena— that  is,  to  hear  of 
them,  you  know  ;  for,  of  course,  one  never  expects  to 
see  them." 

"Then  you  don't  expect  to  see  them?" 

"  Why,  no,  child !"   and  Rose  laughed  again ;  "  1 

might  when  I  was  very  young " 

"And  how  long  ago  may  that  be?"  interrup  ed 
Giacomo  gravely. 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  know— it  is  a  long  time  ago  now  ; 
but,  Maddalena,  you  wouldn't  like  to  see  a  ghost, 
would  you?' 

"  A  ghost ! — oh  !  dear  me,  no  !" 
"The   Lord  save  us,   Miss  Rose!"  cried  Nancy, 
"  what  makes  you  say  the  like  o'  lhat  ?"     And  the  old 
woman  shuddered  as  she  looked  back  over  her  shoul- 
der, and  all  around.     "  Mockiirs  catchin',  you  know  !" 
"  Very  true,  Nancy  !"  said  Giacomo  without  paus- 
ing to  consider  what  ho  was  saying—"  who  knows 
but  that  Captain  Melville  might  be  showing  himself. 
This  is  just  the  night  for  a  sailor's  ghost  to  appear." 
A  simultaneous  sign  from  Rose  and  Nancy  admon- 
ished him  of  his  error,  and  he  remembered  at  once 
how  the  old  woman  had  warned  him  not  to  speak  of 
*  D.  F. McCarthy's  "  Alice  and  Una." 


314         THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

the  ghost  in  Miss  Ackland5  s  presence;  but  too  »ate# 
one  and  the  other — too  late  to  avoid  wounding  the 
heart  that  had  loved  Ralph  Melville,  and  loved  his 
memory  still.  A  mortal  paleness  overspread  Miss 
Ackland's  face,  and  she  sank  back  in  her  chair  almost 
fainting,  as  Rose  had  seen  her^once  before  when  she 
delivered  Mabel's  message.  Rose  and  Maddalena 
flew  to  her  assistance ;  she  smiled  faintly  and  gently 
motioned  them  away,  but  by  a  sudden  impulse,  she 
caught  Maddalena's  hand,  and  the  girl,  sorrowing  and 
amazed,  knelt  beside  her,  when  she  fixed  a  long  and 
wistful  look  on  her  face,  then  sighed  heavily,  and  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  Giacomo  sent  Nancy  for  a 
glass  of  water,  and  when  Miss  Ackland  had  taken  a 
little  she  revived  and  sat  up  again  smiling  at  her  own 
weaknsss.  Giacomo  commenced  to  apologize,  but  she 
stopped  him,  saying — 

"  Pray  don't  mention  it,  Giacomo !  It  is  I  thai 
should  rather  apologize  for  having  so  alarmed  you 
and  Maddalena.  I  am  ashamed  of  my  weakness 
which  yet  I  cannot  overcome. ' 

"  An'  still  you  weren't  a  bit  daunted  when  you  seen 
him,  Miss  Lyddy  !"  said  Nancy  with  the  respectful 
familiarity  of  long  service  and  tried  fidelity — "  Mister 
Jacomy,  she  isn't  the  least  bit  afraid  of  ghosts !" 

A  severe  look  from  Miss  Ackland  silenced  her,  and 
she  soon  after  made  her  retreat  to  the  kitchen,  having 
been  summoned  to  the  sitting-room  at  Rose's  request 
expressly  to  entertain  Maddalena  with  her  stories. 

Much  did  Giacomo  and  his  sister  desire  to  know 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE         815 

who  and  what  the  Captain  Melville  had  been  who 
was  so  fondly  remembered  by  Miss  Ackland  years 
after  his  death.  They  looked  at  Rose  and  Rose 
looked  at  them ;  she  read  their  thoughts,  and  would 
gladly  have  given  the  information  they  so  much 
desired,  but  she  knew  that  neither  then  nor  after  was 
it  allowable  for  her  to  make  any  allusion  to  that  sub- 
ject. Her  aunt,  moreover,  warned  her  by  a  look,  and 
she  was  glad  to  turn  the  conversation  to  something 
else. 

Maddiilena,  however,  could  not  help  thinking  of 
what  she  had  heard  concerning  the  ghost,  and  when 
she  and  Rose  retired  for  the  night,  she  asked  with 
some  hesitation  where  it  was  that  Miss  Ackland  had 
seen  the  ghost.     "  Was  it  in  this  house  ?" 

"  Not  exactly,"'  said  Rose,  "  it  was  out  on  the  es- 
planade." 

"  On  the  esplanade !  Oh !  I  will  never  go  there 
again  in  the  evening.1' 

"  And  why  ?" 

"  Why,  only  think !  if  the  Signor  Capitano  should 
appear  to  me.     O  cielo  /" 

"  But,  my  dear  Maddalena  !  why  should  he  appear 
to  you  ?" 

"  And  why  should  he  appear  to  your  aunt  ?" 

"  Oh  1  because  my  aunt  knew  him  when  he  was 
alive.  He  used  to  be  a  visitor  here  a  great  while 
ago." 

"  You  tell  me  so  ?"  said  Maddalena  with  a  shudder 
— "  oh  !  I  wish  I  had  not  come," 


816  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE. 

Rose  did  not  like  the  subject  for  that  particular 
time  and  place,  but  she  tried  to  conceal  her  own 
fears  in  order  to  reason  Maddalena  out  of  hers ;  rea- 
soning failed,  however,  and  thea  Hose  tried  raillery, 
which  she  found  more  effective.  She  began  to  laugb 
and  make  a  jest  of  the  whole  affair,  going  so  far  as  to 
say  that  her  aunt  might  only  have  imagined  that  she 
saw  the  ghost,  and  after  a  little  she  got  Maddalena 
to  laugh,  too,  and  then  Rose  found,  to  her  surprise, 
that  her  own  secret  fears  had  all  but  vanished,  and 
she  actually  felt  the  courage  she  but  feigned  before. 
So  much  for  the  power  of  self-control,  and  the  bliss- 
ful elasticity  of  youth.  When  sleep  came  down  on 
the  eyelids  of  those  two  fair  friends,  it  brought  no 
dreams  of  terror. 

Not  so  calm  was  Miss  Ackland's  sleep  ;  fierce  gusts 
of  wind  still  shook  the  old  walls  at  times,  and  howled 
around  the  casements,  and'Lydia  Ackland  was  ever 
wakeful  when  the  winds  were  abroad.  Visions  of 
terror  and  affright  then  filled  her  mind  ;  the  cries  of 
drowning  men  were  in  her  ears,  mingling  with  the 
shrieks  of  the  blast,  and  one  voice  she  ever  seemed  to 
hear  above  all  the  rest,  one  face  but  too  familiar  her 
fancy  still  distinguished,  turning  ever  on  her  a  sad 
reproachful  glance  ere  it  vanished  in  the  deep  dark 
waters.  Then  it  was  that  self-reproach  was  torture, 
and  one  trifling  fault  was  magnified  by  conscience 
into  a  grievous  sin.  Then  she  wept  and  prayed,  oh ! 
how  fervently,  for  that  soul  so  suddenly  called  to  its 
account;  it  was  only  when  the  winds  were  at  length 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOTNE. 


317 


hushed,  and  the  stillness  of  night  brought  calm  to  the 
troubled  mind,  that  her  weary  eyelids  closed  in  sleep, 
and  past  and  present  were  alike  forgotten. 

On  the  following  day,  Giacomo  came  early  to  ask 
the  ladies  to  go  out  for  a  drive  in  the  afternoon  ;  Miss 
Ackland  declined  going,  sajing  that  she  felt  rather 
indisposed,  suggesting  that  the  others  should  call  for 
Mrs.  Hamilton,  a  widow  lady  of  her  acquaintance  who 
was  in  delicate  health,  and  rather  low  in  circum- 
stances. She  was  very  amiable  and  very  intelligent, 
and  altogether  Miss  Ackland  felt  much  interested  in 
her,  having  known  her  when  the  prospects  of  both 
were  brighter,  and  Mrs.  Hamilton  a  happy  wife. 

Rose  caught  eagerly  at  the  proposition  ;  Mrs.  Ham- 
ilton was  one  of  her  favorites,  too,  and,  as  she  said— 
"  It  will  do  the  poor  thing  good ;  she  cannot  often 
have  a  drive." 

Giacomo  looked  as  though  he  would  willingly  have 
dispensed  with  the  fair  widow's  company  on  the  oc- 
casion, but  of  course  he  took  care  not  to  say  so,  and 
the  matter  was  arranged  accordingly. 

The  afternoon  came,  school  was  dismissed,  and  our 
young  trio  set  out  in  the  best  possible  spirits, — Rose 
telling  her  aunt  to  take  aire  of  herself  as  she  laugh- 
ingly kissed  her  hand  to  her  when  they  drove  off; 
Miss  Ackland  had  gone  down  to  the  gate  with  them. 
Maddalena  had  petitioned  to  be  allowed  to  remain 
with  Miss  Ackland,  but  her  offer  was  gratefully  de- 
clined, and  she  was  reluctantly  obliged  to  go  with  the 
others. 


818  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

Tht-y  had  been  gone  an  hour  or  so  when  a  ring 
came  to  the  door;  and  Miss  Ackland,  reading  in  the 
back  parlor,  was  surprised  by  the  entrance  of  a  gen- 
tleman in  uniform  whom  she  instantly  recognized  as 
Major  Melville.  It  was  not  without  a  certain  degree 
of  embarrassment  that  she  returned  his  bow,  and 
requested  him  to  be  seated.  There  was  a  momen- 
tary pause,  and  then  it  wras  the  gentleman  who 
spoke. 

"  Miss  Ackland  must  be  rather  surprised  to  see 
me  here,  and  I  confess  I  feel  rather  awkward  myself 
all  things  considered." 

"  I  certainly  did  not  expect  the  honor  of  a  visit 
from  Major  Melville,"  the  lady  replied  somewhat 
stiffly. 

"  And  yet  I  have  visited  your  house  before,  if  not 
yourself." 

"  So  I  have  heard,  Major  Melville,  and  with  some 
surprise.  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand  why  you 
should  visit  my  house,  or  myself  either.', 

"  Am  I  not  welcome,  then  ?" 

"  Yes,  undoubtedly,  if  you  come  as  a  friend."  Her 
voice  trembled  as  she  added — "  Ralph  Melville's  bro- 
ther cannot  but  be  welcome  under  this  roof." 

"  I  thank  you,  Miss  Ackland — for  his  sake,  if  not 
for  my  own,"  and  the  Major  bowed  with  stately 
grace.  "  There  was  a  time,  I  will  frankly  tell  you, 
when  I  thought  it  was  beyond  the  range  of  possi- 
bility that  I  should  cross  the  threshold  of  yow 
home," 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  319 

"  That  was  not  strange,'"  said  Mi  :s  Ackland  in  a 
voice  barely  audible.  "You  thought  you  owed  me 
no  good  will,  nnd  from  your  point  of  view  you  cer- 
tainly did  not." 

"  And  from  yours  ?"  he  abruptly  asked. 

"  Sympathy — affection, "  she  promptly  answered. 

"  That  I  cannot  admit,"  said  the  Major,  shaking  his 
head  gravely.  "  What  did  I — what  did  we  owe  you 
of  sympathy  or  affection  ?'' 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  her  pale  cheek 
suffused  with  a  crimson  blush,  and  the  light  of  her 
departed  youth  flashing  from  her  eyes  usually  so  mild 
— ''  I  may  tell  you  now  what  I  never  told  your  bro- 
ther:— if  the  warmest  and  truest  love  for  him  in  life, 
and  the  most  enduring  sorrow  for  him  in  death — ay  ! 
sorrow  that  blighted  my  life's  bloom,  and  left  me  old 
ere  youth  was  past — if  these  gave  me  any  claim  on 
your  sympathy  and  compassion — then  I  tell  you,  Guy 
Melville  !  I  deserved  both  !" 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  the  tears 
trickled  from  between  her  slender  fingers.  When 
she  withdrew  her  hands,  and  hastily  wiped  the  tears 
from  her  eyes,  she  found  the  Major  standing  before 
her,  regarding  her  with  a  look  which  she  could  not 
understand,  earnest,  wistful,  yet  irresolute,  as  though 
a  strusrsrla  were  sroinii  on  within. 

"  Then  you  regretted  your  treatment  of  my  bro- 
ther ?"  he  said,  in  a  husky  voice. 

"  Regretted  it ! — oh  !  how  much  I  did  regret  it !-— ■ 
I  have  been  very  wretched  !" 


5*20  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNK. 

"  No  doubt ;  remorse  is  hard  to  bear,  when  once 
it  takes  possession  of  the  soul." 

"  Remorse,  Major  Melville,  is  too  strong  a  word 
for  my  regret ;  to  feel  remorse,  one  must  have  done 
some  grievous  wrong/' 

"  And  did  not  you  do  a  grievous  wrong,  when  you 
wantonly  sported  with  a  heart  so  noble  as  was  that 
of  Ralph,  and  finally  cast  it  from  you  as  a  worthless 
thing?" 

Miss  Ackiand  felt  that  a  searching  glance  was  bent 
upon  h?r,  but  she  did  not  shrink  from  its  scrutiny. 
She  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  full  in  the  face  of  her 
interlocutor. 

"Pardon  me,  Major  Melville  '"  ehe  said  somewhat 
haughtily,  "  I  cannot  plead  guilty  to  that  extent.  I 
repaid  your  brother's  love  with  love  equal  to  his  own, 
and  1  meant  nothing  less  than  to  sport  with  his  af- 
fection;  his  own  precipitancy  in  wresting  a  wrong 
meaning  from  my  words  was  the  first  cause  of  our 
fatal  separation,  my  annoyance  at  his  want  of  pene- 
tration and  his  unkind  suspicion,  the  second.  But 
had  I  known  at  the  moment  that  he  really  took  my 
squivocating  answer  as  a  final  one,  I  w^oulcl  undoubt- 
edly have  undeceived  him." 

Guy  Melville  looked  at  her  a  moment,  and  a  smile 
curved  his  lip  and  brightened  his  grave  countenance; 
he  took  her  hand  and  said  in  a  kindly  tone — "I  be- 
lieve you,  Miss  Ackiand  !  and  if  Ralph  were  in  my 
place  he  wrould  believe  you — and  be  happy  in  believ- 
ing     I  shall  hope  to  see  you  again." 


TOE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    COYNE. 


821 


He  then  took  his  leave,  and  Miss  Ackland,  though 
much  surprised,  felt  all  the  better  and  happier  for  hif 
rait. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Some  :en  days  after  Major  Melville's  risit,  Giacomo 
being  about  to  return  home,  Miss  Ackland  sa'd  on 
the  Friday  evening  that  there  was  one  place  neither 
he  nor  Maddalena  had  yet  seen,  and  which  they  must 
see  before  Giacomo  left.  Rose  asked  what  place  it 
was. 

"  Oh  !  never  mi. id,"  said  her  aunt,  "  you  will  know 
it  when  we  get  there.  I  kept  this  for  our  last  excur- 
sion, Giacomo,  as  the  place  is  a  favorite  resort  of 
mine,  and  I  th<nk  you  and  Maddalena  will  find  it  in- 
teresting. So  if  tomorrow  is  fine  we  shall  go  in  the 
forenoon  and  toke  our  dinner  with  us." 

"And  the  company  ?"  said  Giacomo. 

"  None — for  this  ouce  ! — we  will  go  en  quartette?* 

"  I  am  very  glad  ;  so  near  my  departure,  I  should 
much  prefer  having  only  ourselves." 

"  Oh !  you  selfish  moit  1 11'  cried  Rose,  with  a  sud- 
den burst  of  gaity  that  seemed  spasmodic,  "  you  don't 
want  others  to  share  your  enjoyment !" 

"  Yes  !  I  do — but  not  too  many,  or  my  eojoyment 
would  be  none  at  all.  Que— or  two — or  even  three 
may  be  company,  -that  is  to  say  if  ihey  be  those 
whose  companionship  h  pleasant  and  apri-teaMa— -V* 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         323 

yond  that  one  finds  the  crowd,  and  companionship  is 
lost." 

"  He  is  like  my  father  in  that,"  said  Maddalena , 
"  my  father  cannot  bear  much  people  about  him." 

(<  Oh!  your  father  is  a  regular  hermit,"  said  Rose, 
"  as  I  understand  him  " 

"  Almost — not  quite,1'  replied  Giacomo  smiling,  as 
he  rose  to  depart;  "my  father  has  his  company,  I 
fancy,  in  his  own  thoughts,  and  then  he  has  a  minia- 
ture, in  a  shagreen  case,  which  he  never  shows  to  any 
one,  keeping  it  always  carefully  locked  up.  But  I 
have  seen  him  when  he  did  not  think  I  saw  him,  as 
wrapped  up  in  the  contemplation  of  that  picture  as 
though  it  were  some  old  and  dear  friend.  And  I 
think  it  is,  too  !  —You  know,  Maddalena  I" 

"  Yes,  I  know  !" 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  Rose,  much  interested  in  the 
mystery,  "  I  wonder  is  it  the  likeness  of  a  man  or  a 
woman  ? — Has  either  of  you  ever  seen  it  ?" 

"I  once  got  a  glimpse —barely  a  glimpse  of  it," 
said  Giacomo,  "  but  it  is  so  very  long  ago  that  I  can 
scarcely  remember  anything  more  about  it  than  that 
it  was  a  lady  young  and  fair;  childlike,  I  told  my 
mother  of  it,  at  tie  time,  and  it  seemed  to  trouble 
her,  so  I  never  spoke  of  it  to  any  one  after  I  think  it 
was  only  of  late  years,  however,  that  my  father  began 
to  look  at  the  picture  again;  it  seems  to  me  now  that 
he  had  put  it  away  from  his  sight  all  the  years  of  his 
married  life." 

Miss  Ackland  began  to  think  that  Signor  Malvili 


324  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

was  a  more  interesting  person  than  she  had  supposed 
liim  to  be,  but  she  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  say 
so,  and  the  conversation  ended.  Giacomo  said  "  good 
night"  at  last,  and  hurried  away,  as  it  was  wearing  late. 

The  sun  shone  out  next  day  warm  and  bright  for 
the  season ;  early  in  the  forenoon  came  Giacomo,  but, 
early  as  it  was,  Tom  Connor  was  at  the  gate  with  his 
car,  and  the  girls  were  sitting  on  the  bench  in  the 
porch  shawled  and  bonneted.  Nancy  was  just 
mounting  the  steps,  after  placing  a  well-filled  basket 
in  the  well  of  the  car.*  She  whispered  to  Giacomo 
as  she  passed  him  in  the  ascent — ':  Did  Miss  Ackland 
tell  you  that  Major  Melville  was  here  while  you  were 
all  out  drivin'  that  day  ?"  "  Yes  !  she  just  mentioned 
that  he  had  called,  but  said  no  more  about  it."  "  I 
thought  maybe  she  didn't  tell  you,  at  all.  You  see  I 
was  right  enough/'  She  passed  on,  but  her  words 
did  not  pass  from  Giacomo's  mind,  and  they  rang  in 
his  ears  for  hours  after. 

Miss  Ackland  had  been  watching  his  approach  from 
the  parlor  window,  and  she  quickly  made  her  appear- 
ance equipped  for  the  ride.  The  morning  salutation 
being  exchanged,  and  the  beauty  of  the  day  noted, 
the  party  descended  to  the  gate,  and  took  their  seats 
on  the  car. 

*Th.*se  who  have  never  seen  an  "Irish  jaunting-car"  may 
require  to  be  informed  that  the  well  is  that  pirt  of  the  car 
gitua'e  between  the  backs  of  th^  two  s°a's  which  occupy  the 
g'des.  The  well  is  a  great  convenience  for  stowing  away  spare 
C  uffling,  baskets,  and  such  like  appurtenances  of  travelling. 


THE    OLD    TTOUSF    BY    THE    BOTNB.  325 

"Where  to,  Miss  Ackland  ?"  inquired  Tom  Con- 
nor, as  lie  mounted  the  driver's  seat.  Her  answer 
was  only  heard  by  Tom  himself,  who  nodded  intelli- 
gently, smacked  his  whip,  gave  the  reins  a  shake,  en- 
couraged his  horse  with  a  "  Step  out,  Johnny !"  and 
away  thev  went  at  a  brisk  trot  through  the  narrow 
streets  right  across  the  old  town  to  the  West  Gate, 
then  along  the  smooth  turnpike  road  to  the  quiet 
village  of  Tullyallen,  passing  through  which  they 
came  to  the  beautiful  demesne  of  Townley  Hall,  and 
Rose,  turning  round  to  her  aunt, — she  and  Maddalena 
sat  on  the  opposite  side  together — she  said — 

"  Oh !  then,  it  is  to  Townley  Hall  we  are  going, 
Aunt  Lydia  !" 

"There,  and  a  little  farther,  my  dear  !" 

"A  little  farther — oh!  I  know  now — I  am  so 
glad  !" 

The  Wvjods  around  Townley  Hall  were  rich  in 
their  many  hued  autumnal  garb,  green  and  gol  1  and 
brown  and  crimson,  and  very  tempting  were  the 
glimpses  caught  of  the  noble  avenue  sweeping 
through  the  demense  to  the  door  of  the  stately  mam 
sion.  But  it  did  not  suit  Miss  Ackland's  purpose  to 
visit  those  sylvan  scenes  just  then,  so  Townley  Hall 
and  its  pleasant  shades  were  passed,  and  a  less  invit- 
ing road  taken  which  diverged  from  the  high  road. 
and  ran  for  a  considerable  distance  along  the  brow 
of  a  bleak  and  barren  hill  than  which  nothing  could 
present  a  greater  contrast  to  the  smiling  scenes  just 
left  behind. 


826         THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

Giacomo  could  not  help  saying — "  What  a  cheer- 
less road  this  is!  — how  different  from  anything  we 
have  seen  before !  Have  we  much  more  of  this 
kind  of  scenery  to  pass  through  ?"  Miss  Ackland 
smiled  and  said — "  Not  much,"  and  they  passed  on. 

They  had  reached  the  highest  ground  on  the  hill- 
tide,  when  Giacomo  asked — 

"  What  ruins  are  those  ?"  pointing  to  the  tops  of 
some  shattered  edifices  which  had  just  become  visible 
in  a  deep  hollow  on  the  left  hand  side  of  the  road. 

"  You  shall  know  presently,"  said  Miss  Ackland, 
"  when  you  see  them  better.  Look  yonder,"  pointing 
over  a  bleak  common  to  the  right,  "  and  you  will  see 
some  other  ruins  with  what  is  perhaps  still  more  in- 
teresting to  you,  one  of  those  famous  round  towers 
of  which  so  many  exist  in  various  parts  of  Ireland." 

"  And  what  place  may  that  be  ?" 

"  That  is  Monasterboice,  an  abbey  of  some  note  in 
early  times." 

"  Are  we  going  there  ?" 

"  No,  you  must  be  content  with  what  you  see  of 
Monasterboice  from  here.  But  do  you  see  that 
wooded  hill  there  right  before  you,  rising  so  grandly 
from  the  level  country  around  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  was  just  admiring  it,  with  the  lofty  tower 
on  its  summit." 

"Well!  that  is  the  hill  of  Slane,  a  phce  very 
famous  in  Irish  annals.  It  was  there  that  St.  Patrick 
may  be  said  to  have  commenced  his  mission;  on  that 
hill,  on  an  Easter  Saturday  evening,  he  kindled  the 


THE    OLD    IIOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  327 

fire  which  has  since  illumined  not  only  this  country 
but  many  other  parts  of  the  earth.  I  will  show  all 
this  to  Maddalena  by  and  by.  Now,  Tom,'1  to  the 
driver,  "  you  can  remain  here  with  the  car  while  we 
go  forward  on  foot." 

Our  little  party  then  alighted,  and  having  descended 
the  hill,  came  to  the  bank  of  a  little  river  which  there 
poured  its  limpid  waters  into  a  sort  of  fissure  in  the 
rocks.  Following  the  course  of  the  stream,  they  came 
to  a  large  rock  projecting  forward  till  within  a  few 
yards  of  the  river ;  the  space  between  the  rock  and 
the  stream  had  been  once  occupied  by  a  gate-tower 
with  an  embattled  wall  connecting  it  with  the  rock; 
of  this  tower  some  remains  were  still  visible,  and 
through  an  arch,  which  was  probably  a  fortified  en- 
trance in  ancient  times,  a  view  was  obtained  which 
drew7  an  exclamation  of  wTonder  from  both  the  brother 
and  sister.  Nestling  in  the  depth  of  the  quiet, 
sequestered  valley  on  the  banks  of  the  little  stream, 
lay  the  stattered  remains  of  several  buildings,  evi- 
dently dating  from  very  ancient  times;  the  sun  not 
yet  at  the  zenith  was  shining  full  upon  the  ruins,  some 
of  which  were  throwing  their  shadows  westward  over 
the  long  grass  that  grew  green  and  rank  in  the  shelter 
of  the  ancient  wralls.  Immediately  in  front,  about  the 
centre  of  the  valley,  stood  what  had  once  been  an  octa- 
gonal building  of  somo  architectural  pretensions,  and 
of  considerable  beauty  still  even  in  its  ruined  state; 
adjoining  that  was  another  oblong  building  with  its 
side  towards  the  entrance  from  the  tower,  and  the 


823  THE    OLD    HOUSE   BY   THE    BOYNfc. 

shattered  interior  of  an  upper  story,  with  a  belfry 
tower  at  the  front  end  still  in  some  preservation. 
Many  other  buildings,  in  a  still  more  advanced  stage 
of  ruin  and  decay,  lay  scattered  around,  and  the  place 
would  have  seemed  the  very  abode  of  silence  and 
contemplation  had  not  the  charm  been  rudely,  harshly 
broken  by  an  unsightly  flour  mill,  which  you  could 
not  help  wishing  some  Irish  Aladdin  would  remove 
to  some  other  locality  where  more  of  the  busy  living 
world  was  seen,  and  less  of  the  dead  and  silent. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Ackland,"  said  Giacomo,  after  he 
had  taken  a  hasty  survey  of  the  surroundings,  "  I 
never  saw  anything  more  solemn,  more  striking  ! — 
What  do  you  call  this  charming  place  ?" 

"  This  is  Mellifont !— the  Melrose  of  Ireland  I 
know  you  have  been  reading  Scott's  '  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel,'  and,  therefore,  know  what  I  mean  by  ap- 
plying the  term  to  Mellifont." 

"  What  a  strange  place  !"  said  Maddalena,  "  those 
ghosts  of  houses  make  one  think  of  many  sad  things  P 

"Are  those  ruins  ecclesiastical,  or  what?"  said 
Giacomo,  whose  eyes  still  wandered  admiringly  over 
the  solemn  features  of  the  scene. 

"  Monastic  rather.  Those  broken  walls  and  arches 
are  all  that  now  remain  of  a  stately  Cistercian  Abbey, 
founded  here  by  monks  sent  from  Clairvaux  by  St. 
Bernard  himself.  It  was  considered  one  of  the  great 
abbeys  of  Ireland,  and  certainly  none  of  them  is  more 
interesting  in  a  historical  point  of  view.  This  octa- 
gonal building  you  see  here  was  the  baptistry,  that 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  329 

one  of  oblong  shape  was  St.  Bernard's  Clinpel,  a 
crypt,  as  you  see,  the  floor  being  considerably  lower 
than  the  surrounding  earth,  and  this  gaping  aperture 
at  the  end  was  once  a  beautiful  doorway,  considered 
one  of  the  finest  in  Ireland ;  there  are  people  living 
who  remember  to  have  seen  the  zig-zag  moulding 
wThich  adorned  the  arch." 

"And  what  place  was  that  above  the  chapel?" 

"  I  really  cannot  say ;  it  appears  to  have  been  used 
as  a  duelling,  as  the  fireplace  and  recessed  closets 
are  still  to  be  seen." 

"Indeed?"  said  Maddalena;  "  oh  !  I  should  much 
like  to  go  up  and  see  it.     Could  one  go  ?" 

Miss  Ackland  smiled  :  "  Yes,  if  one  is  not  very 
minh  afraid  of  breaking  their  bones.  If  you  were 
willing  to  venture  you  could  manage  to  climb  that 
flight  of  stone  steps  at  the  angle  of  the  wall." 

"Would  you  go  up?"  s  id  Maddalena  to  Rose, 
after  glancing  at  the  dilapidated  steps. 

"  Yes,  I  would ;  I  have  been  up  more  than  once." 

"  Will  you  go  now  ?"  said  Giacomo.  "  If  you  do, 
I  will  undertake  to  bring  you  and  Maddalena  safe 
down  again." 

"  Humph  I"  said  Rose,  "  do  you  think  I  could  not 
go  alone  ?"  And,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  she 
began  to  climb  the  steps,  seeing  which  her  aunt  ut- 
tered an  exclamation  of  terror,  Maddalena  screamed, 
and  Giacomo  bounded  up  after  her,  as  it  seemed  to 
the  imminent  peril  of  both.  But  they  reached  the 
top  in  safety,  and  Rose,  all  flushed  and  breathless, 


830  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

turning  to  Giacomo,  asked  him  why  lie  had  not  staid 
below  to  assist  Maddalena. 

"  You  see  I  didn't  require  your  aid,"  said  she. 

"  But  do  you  think  I  could  leave  you  alone  ex- 
posed to  danger?" 

"  I  think  you  might,  at  all  events  !  One  person  in 
danger  is  better  than  two.  Besides,  I  was  in  no  dan- 
ger, though  it  might  seem  to  you  I  was.  Well ! 
Maddalena,  will  you  come  up  now  ?" 

Maddalena,  somewhat  encouraged,  said  she  thought 
she  would  venture. 

"  In  that  case,"  said  her  brother,  "  I  will  go  down 
for  you."  And  he  immediately  began  to  descend, 
Rose,  from  the  top,  charging  him  to  be  careful,  for 
that  the  descent  was  worse  than  the  ascent. 

"  I  will  be  careful,"  was  the  reply,  "  when  you  wish 
it." 

When  he  reached  the  bottom,  he  took  his  sister  by 
the  hand,  and  held  her  fast  till  she,  half  laughing, 
half  crying,  ascended  the  first  steps,  but  as  two  could 
not  mount  abreast,  he  could  only  keep  close  behind 
her  the  remainder  of  the  way;  Rose  from  above, 
and  Miss  Ackland  below,  warning  them  to  mind  well 
their  steps,  for  that  some  of  the  stones  might  be  loose. 
Giacomo  laughed,  and  said  "  Never  fear,"  but  Mad- 
dalena became  only  the  more  fearful  and  the  more 
agitated.  Her  nervous  trepidation  came  near  to  be 
fata!  to  both,  for  when  they  had  reached  the  middle 
of  the  ascent  she  fairly  lost  her  presence  of  mind,  and, 
overcome  by  her  fears,  turned  and  clutched  her  bro- 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    B\    THE    BOYNB.  331 

ther  by  the  arm ;  at  the  same  moment  a  stone  on 
which  she  had  just  set  her  foot  gave  way,  and  she 
fell,  dragging  Giacomo  with  her.  A  wild  scream 
burst  simultaneously  from  Rose  and  Miss  Ackland ; 
but  just  then  a  gentleman  stepped  forward,  and  catch- 
ing Maddalena  in  his  arms,  so  broke  the  fall  for  Gia- 
como, too,  that  he  alighted  on  his  feet.  Another 
gentleman  now'advanced  to  the  assistance  of  the  first, 
and  as  they  seated  Maddalena,  pale  and  trembling,  on 
a  large  stone,  with  her  back  resting  against  the  front 
wall  of  the  chapel,  Miss  Ackland  and  Giacomo  ex- 
claimed together — 

"  Major  Melville  !— is  it  possible  !"  "  Possible,  and 
true,  thanks  to  Providence  !r 

Yes  !  it  was,  indeed,  Major  Melville,  who,  having 
driven  out  that  day  to  Mellifont  with  a  young  bro- 
ther officer,— the  same  Captain  Cornell  who  had  been 
his  companion  when  Miss  Ackland  and  Hose  first  met 
him, — little  expecting  to  meet  any  acquaintances  there, 
had  reached  that  particular  spot  just  in  time  to  save 
Maddalena  and  perhaps  her  brother  from  serious  in- 
jury, at  least. 

"  Thank  God  !  thank  God  !"  ejaculated  Miss  Ack- 
land, her  eyes  fi  led  with  tears  of  joy  and  gratitude, 
"and  you,  Major!"  extendi  lg  her  hand,  which  he 
took  respectfully,  "  and  you  who  came  so  oppor- 
tunely to  the  rescue  !" 

"  And  you  will  please  accept  my  thanks,  Major 
Melville  !"  said  Giacomo  with  manly  frankness,  shak- 
ing his  hand ;  "  how  can  I  thank  you  ?" 


332  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

"By  saying  nothing  about  it,'1  said  the  Major 
curtly  "  I  hope  you  are  nothing  the  worse  for  your 
fall  ?" 

"Nothing  whatever;  and  I  am  still  more  thankful 
that  my  sister  escaped  unhurt.  It  would  almost  be 
the  death  of  my  father  if  anything  had  befel  her."1 

The  Major  turned  at  the  words  and  fixed  his  keen 
glance  on  Maddalena  where  she  still  sat,  with  her 
heal  leaning  on  Miss  Ackland's  shoulder,  a  faint 
smile  lighting  up  her  pallid  face,  to  which  the  deli- 
cate rose  tints  were  gradually  returning  As  he 
gazed  a  softened  look  stole  over  his  face,  he  ap- 
proached her,  and  said  in  a  hesitating  way — 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  much  hurt,  Signora  ?" 

She  started  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  raised  her- 
self, and  looked  up  in  his  nice  with  a  strange  bewil- 
derment, at  which  he  smiled,  and  merely  repeated  his 
question. 

"  I  do  not  feel  hurt,  at  all,"  the  girl  replied,  in  her 
sweet,  foreign  accent;  "  the  Madonna  reward  you, 
sir !  For  me,  I  cannot  thank  you  as  I  would  wish — 
but  my  brother  wi'l  thank  yon,  and,  some  day,  per- 
haps, my  father!" 

"  Suddenly  her  eyes  fell,  and  her  cheek  flushed,  and 
Major  Melville  turning  to  ascertain  the  cause  per- 
ceived that  Captain  Cornell  was  leaning  on  a  broken 
pillar  near,  watching  the  fair  Italian  girl  with  a  look 
of  intense  admiration.  "  Come  along,  Cornell  !"  said 
h^,  "  we  have  all  to  see  here  yet,  and  the  day  ia 
passing." 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TIIL"    BOYNB.  333 

"But  where  is  Rose  ?"  said  Miss  Ackland,  all  at 
once  ;  "  And  where  is  Giacomo   " 

"Has  any  one  a  smelling-1  ottle  ?"  said  the  latter 
from  above,  '  Miss  Rose  has  fainted,  I  believi." 

Miss  Ackland,  much  alarmed,  took  from  her  pocket 
a  bottle  of  sal  volatile*  but  the  difficulty  was  how  to 
get  it  up.  Captain  Cornell,  however,  offered  his 
services,  and  ascending  the  steps  half  way  or  so,  suc- 
ceeded in  reaching  the  bottle  to  Giacomo. 

"  Shall  I  go  up  to  assist  you  ?"  said  the  Captain. 

"Thank  you,  it  is  quite  unnecessary." 

There  was  breathless  silence  below  during  the  very 
few  minutes  that  elapsed  before  Giacomo  called  to 
Miss  Ackland  that  Miss  Rose  was  recovering;  the 
aunt  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven  in  silent  thank- giving, 
then  begged  Major  Melville  and  his  friend  to  delay 
no  longer  on  their  account,  but  commence  their  ex- 
ploration of  the  ruins. 

"Have  you  gone  all  through?"  said  the  Major. 

"  Oh !  my  niece  and  I  have  been  here  more  than 
once  before — it  was  only  for  the  sake  of  our  young 
friends  that  we  came  now,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  they 
have  not  seen  much  of  the  valley  or  the  ruins  yet. 
Do  you  think  you  would  be  able  to  go  any  farther, 
Maddalena  ?" 

Somehow  Maddalena's  eyes  met  Captain  Cornell's 
just  then,  and  there  was  such  a  look  of  entreaty  in 
them  that  she  blushed  as  she  answered — "  Oh  yes  !  1 
feel  quite  strong  now — it   was  only  the  fright  that 


334         THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

made  me  feel  faint.  I  know  my  brother  would  be 
much  disappointed  if  we  did  not  stay  to  see  all." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear,  if  Rose  is  not  able  to  walk 
she  can  sit  here  till  we  return.1' 

"  In  that  case,1'  said  the  Major,  "  we  shall  make  the 
tour  of  the  valley  together — if  you  have  no  objection, 
ladies. !" 

"  Certainly  not,'  said  Miss  Ackland,  "  it  will  afford 
us  pleasure  to  have  your  company,  Major,  and  that 
of  your  friend,  to  me  all  the  more,  as  from  my  fami- 
liarity with  the  place  I  may  be  of  some  service  as  a 
cicerona." 

Whilst  this  short  colloquy  was  going  on  below,  an- 
other of  a  far  different  kind  might  have  been  heard 
abov'e  had  any  o::e  been  sufficiently  near.  When 
Rose  opened  her  eyes  and  found  her  head  resting  on 
Giacomo's  arm,  a  faint  blush  stole  over  her  face,  and 
she  made  a  motion  as  if  to  raise  herself,  but  the 
effort  was  beyond  her  strength,  and  her  head  sank 
heavily  on  the  arm  that  so  tenderly  supported  her. 

"  Thank  Heaven,  you  are  again  conscious  !"  said 
Giacomo  in  a  voice  trembling  with  emotion.  "  Oh  ! 
Rose  !  how  you  frightened  me — I  mean  us  !" 

c*  Not  so  much,"  she  found  voice  to  say,  "  as  you 
frightened  me.  Oh  !  that  moment  I1'  She  closed  her 
eyes  as  if  to  shut  out  the  sight,  and  a  visible  shudder 
r.»n  through  her  frame. 

"  You  are  not  hurt  ?"  said  Rose,  opening  her  eyes 
with  a  start,  and  fixing  them  on  the  face  that  hung 
over  her. 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    liY    THE    IiOVNE.  336 

«  No,1'  said  Giacomo— it  was  all  he  could  say, 
"Nor  Maddalena?" 
"  Nor  Maddalena '." 

«  God  be  praised  I"     There  was  little  in  the  words, 
but  much  in  the  voice,  and  Giacomo's  heart  thrilled. 
He  said  nothing,  however,  and  Rose,  feeling  the  si 
lence  awkward,  and  being  now  somewhat  stronger 
raised  herself  and  gently  put  away  his  arm.    Then  she 
said,with  a  timid  look  at  his  flushed  and  agitated  face— 
"  Had  we  not  better  go  down  now,  Signor?" 
«  Do  you  feel  able  ?"  Giacomo  asked  in  a  low  voice 
"  Oh  j'yes,  I  am  sure  I  am  able,  and  you  know  my 
aunt  will  be  anxious  till  she  sees  me  safe.     Come, 
Signor,  give  me  your  hand;  I  am  not  strong  enough, 
yo°u  see;  to  rise  without  help  !"  and  she  smiled  with 
something  of  her  wonted  archness. 

Instead  of  replying,  Giacomo  said  passionately— 
«  Signer  !  you  call  me  Signor  !— Rose  Ackland,  this 
mus°t  not,  shall  not  continue  !-I  love  you  more  than 
my  own  life,  yet  you  treat  me  as  though  I  were  aim jst 
a  stranger  '.—When  is  this  10  end  ?— or  shall  it  ever?" 
Rose's  lace  was  crimson  in  a  moment,  then  pale  as 
death;  she  trembled,  and  seemed  as  though  unable 
to  utter  a  word. 

<  Rose  !  will  you  not  speak  to  me?"  said  Giacomo 
beseechingly;  he  was  standing  full  in  front  of  her 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  face.  « I  asked  you  are  we 
always-always  to  be  to  each  other  as  we  are  now  P 
«  You  ask  me  a  question  which  I  cannot  answer, 
said  Rose  without  looking  up.''  ' 


338         THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

"You  cannot?" 

"Not  now,  at  least;  I  cannot  stay  here  longer," 
she  was  going  to  say  Signor,  then  checked  herself, 
and  said,  "  Giacomo !  —I  want  to  see  ray  aunt  and 
Maddalena,"  holding  out  her  hand  at  the  same  time, 
which  he  took  and  raised  her  up,  then  pressed  the 
hand  before  he  resigned  it. 

By  this  time,  the  rest  of  the  party  were  waiting  at 
the  foot  of  the  steps,  and  Rose,  on  advancing  to  the 
top  with  Giacomo,  glanced  down  and  drew  back  id 
surprise  on  seeing  the  strangers,  who  were  not  in 
uniform.    Her  aunt  noticed  the  movement  and  said — 

"  Don't  mind,  my  dear !  it  is  only  Major  Melville 
and  a  brother  officer  who  chanced  to  meet  us  here. 
But  how  are  you  going  to  get  Rose  down?"  she 
added,  addressing  Giacomo. 

"Oh!  Aunt  Lydia,  I  am  quite  able  to  go  down 
myself,"  said  Rose. 

"  I  should  not  like  to  see  you  try,"  said  Giacomo  in 
an  under  tone. 

"  Suppose  we  try  to  procure  a  ladder  in  the  neigh- 
borhood," suggested  Captain  Cornell ;  "  it  is  impossi- 
ble for  the  young  lady  to  get  down  without  one." 

"  Not  quite  impossible,  sir,"  said  Giacomo,  and 
turning  again  to  Rose,  he  said  in  the  same  low  whis- 
per, "  will  you  trust  yourself  to  me  ?" 

"  I  will !"  she  answered  firmly. 

"  Thanhs  ! — now,  then,  permit  me  !"  And,  encir- 
cling her  waist  with  his  arm,  he  gently  drew  one 
arm  of  hers  around  his  neck,  and  ejaculating  a  fervent 


TIIK    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYffE.  337 

prayer  to  God  and  the  Blessed  Virgin,  be  began  ta 
descend  slowly  and  carefully,  little  heeding  the  ex- 
clamations of  terror  and  apprehension  from  Lelow> 
his  every  thought,  his  every  sense  absorbed  in  the 
one  beloved  creature,  whose  head  lay  helplessly  on 
his  shoulder,  for  Rose's  courage  had  again  failed  her. 
She  was  perfectly  conscious,  however,  and  clung 
with  convulsive  energy  to  him  whose  strong  arm 
seemed  alone  between  her  and  death.  No  word 
passed  between  them  during  the  perilous  descent, 
but  their  hearts  held  close  communion,  they  entered 
then  on  a  new  phase  of  existence,  and  both  felt  that 
the  relations  between  them  had  changed  forever — 
they  could  no  more  be  as  they  had  been,  conceal- 
ment was  at  an  end,  dissimulation  and  doubt  alike 
impossible.  That  moment,  with  all  its  thrilling  sense 
of  danger,  was  looked  back  on  by  those  two  in  after 
years  as  the  happiest  of  their  life. 

But  this  change  was  perceptible  to  none  save  them- 
selves ;  when  Rose  stood  safe  beside  her  aunt,  and 
mutual  felicitations  were  exchanged,  the  affair  was 
treated  as  nothing  more  than  an  exciting  episode 
and  all  went  on  as  before.  It  was  remarked,  how- 
ever, that  Giacomo  was  seldom  absent  from  the  side 
of  Rose,  and  that  Rose  leaned  on  his  arm  as  she  had 
never  leaned  before.  Captain  Cornell  seemed,  in  like 
manner,  to  take  Maddalena  under  his  special  care, 
seeing  which  Major  Melville  and  Miss  Ackland  ex- 
changed a  smiling  glance  of  intelligence,  and  the 
gentleman  said  as  he  offered  his  arm  to  the  lady : 


538  TIIE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

"  Pairing  off,  I  protest,  in  parliamentary  style. 
See  what  it  is  to  be  young !" 

Just  then  appeared  on  the  scene  a  peasant  woman 
with  a  stone  pitcher  in  her  hand,  and  the  thought  oc 
curred  to  Miss  Ackland  that  she  might  be  made  use- 
ful. Accosting  her,  therefore,  as  she  passed,  she 
asked  where  she  was  going  to  get  water  there. 

"  Down  at  St.  Mary's  Fountain,  ma'am  !"  said  the 
woman  with  the  usual  low  curtsey,  almost  down  to 
the  ground. 

"  Why,  I  did  not  know  there  was  a  fountain  here." 

"  No  more  there  wasn't,  ma'am,"  (another  curtsey) 
"  till  here  a  few  years  agone.  In  coorse,  it  was  here 
in  the  ould  ancient  times,  for  it  was  the  one  that  kept 
the  monks  in  wather  long  ago." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  the  Major,  "  you  know  a  great 
many  stories  about  this  old  abbey." 

"  Oh  then,  it's  myself  that  does,  your  honor,  an' 
how  could  I  miss  of  it,  for  sure  wasn't  I  born  there 
abroad  within  a  stone's  throw  of  it."  She  squatted 
herself  on  the  ground  on  her  haunches,  with  her 
pitcher  beside  her,  as  one  who  desired  nothing  bet- 
ter than  a  good  long  shanachus. 

"  Sure  but  there's  many  a  quare  thing  seen  an'  hard," 
she  began,  "  about  these  ould  walls,  for  all  they're  so 
quiet  now.  There's  them  above  ground,"  and  she 
lowered  her  voice  to  a  mysterious  whisper,  "  that  has 
seen  the  monks  walkin'  in  procession  here  in  the  dead 
hour  o'  the  night,  for  all  the  world  as  if  they  were 
alive,  and  the  moon  shinin'  on  the  great  silver  cross 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOTNB.         339 

that  was  carried  before  them,  till  the  sight  of  it  'id 
dazzle  a  body's  eyes.  An'  the  hymns  they'd  be  sing- 
in' — och !  it's  a  folly  to  talk,  man  or  mortal  never 
hard  the  like,  barrin'  them  that  hard  it  here." 

"  Who  they  were,  deponent  saith  not,"  whispered 
the  Captain  to  the  Major. 

"  And  what  about  the  Mass-bell  ?"  said  Miss  Ack- 
land. 

"  Oh  !  you've  hard  of  that,  ma'am  ?" 
"  Yes,  but  others  of  our  party  did  not  ?" 
"  Well !  I'll  tell  the  quality  how  it  was.  You  see, 
there  was  once  upon  a  time,  a  wild  fellow  by  the 
name  of  Larry  Delany,  a  journeyman  waver  by 
trade,  an'  the  sorra  thing  he  did  the  whole  Sunday 
over  but  ramble  abroad  in  the  fields,  and  go  from  place 
to  place  divartin  himself.  He  got  in  time  that  he 
never  set  his  foot  inside  a  church,  an'  cared  no  more 
about  missin'  Mass  than  if  he  was  a  brute  baste,  the 
Lord  save  us  !  Well !  one  Sunday  mornin'—  it  was 
in  the  summer  time,  too,  an'  as  beauty-ful  a  day  as 
ever  came  from  the  heavers,  an'  my  bowM  Larry 
was  on  his  tramp,  to  be  sure,  as  usual,  an'  he  thought 
he'd  take  a  short  cut  through  the  valley  here  to 
where  he  was  goin',  wherever  that  was.  So  he  was 
makin'  the  best  of  his  speed  along,  and  was  jist  about 
where  we  are  now,  about  the  time  of  last  Mass, 
when  he  hears  a  bell  ringin' — the  sweetest  bell  he 
evev  hard  in  all  his  days,  an'  it  rung,  an'  rung  jist  as 
you'd  hear  it  in  the  chapel  comiu'  on  the  time  of  the 
Elevation.      With    that   the  hair  began    to  rise  on 


£40  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   TTJE    BOYNE. 

Larry's  head,  arT  his  knees  shook  under  him.  'Christ 
save  us  !'  says  he  to  himself,  '  sure  there's  ne'er  a 
chape]  liereabouts.  What's  this  at  all  ?' — So  he 
cocks  his  ear  to  listen,  an'  he  says  again — '  Oh 
Blessed  Virgin  '  it's  in  the  ould  chapel  it  is  !'  With 
that  he  looks  in,  an'  sure  enough  he  seen  a 
sight  that  made  him  trimble  all  over, — there  was  a 
priest  at  an  altar  under  that  end  window  sayin'  Mass, 
an'  ever  so  many  monks  an'  some  that  wasn't  monks, 
kneelin'  in  the  chapel  with  their  heads  bent  down; 
now,  you  see,  Larry  knew  well  enough  that  there 
never  was  an  altar  there  since  the  memory  of  man 
or  long  before  it,  an'  that  what  he  seen  was  nothing 
earthly,  an'  the  cowld  sweat  broke  out  all  over  his 
body ;  down  he  pops  on  his  knees,  an'  bent  his  head 
like  the  rest,  but  a  prayer  he  couldn't  say,  he  was  so 
much  afeard.  Presently,  the  bell  rung  again,  an'  poor 
Larry  makes  bowld  to  lift  (.is  head  the  laste  little  bit, 
an',  my  dears  !  there  was  the  priest  with  his  hands 
raised  up  high  all  as  one  as  if  he  was  elevatin'  the 
Host,  an'  Larry  couldn't  keep  in  any  longer,  he  cries 
out — '  Oh  Lord  !  have  mercy  on  me  a  sinner  !'  an' 
down  he  foils  flat  on  the  ground  How  long  he  lay 
there  he  never  could  tell,  but  when  he  woke  up  it  was 
the  middle  o'  the  day,  he  knew  by  the  sun,  an'  there 
wasn't  monk  or  altar,  either,  in  the  ould  chapel, 
but  everything  was  jist  as  he  had  always  seen 
it.  So  Larry  made  the  best  of  his  w:iy  home,  an' 
from  that  day  till  the  day  he  died,  he  never  missed 
Mass  on  Sunday  or  holyday.     An'  sure  he  wasn't  the 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         341 

only  one  that  hard  the  Mass-bell  ringin'  in  Melli- 
font  Abbey  since  it  came  to  what  you  see  it.  Oc'  one! 
an'  isn't  it  the  black  sight  for  the  country  round,  for 
sure  they  say  it  was  past  credit  what  the  blessed  and 
holy  monks  used  to  give  to  the  poor  every  day  of 
their  lives,  for  all  they  lived  so  poor  themselves." 

"  But  they  were  very  rich,  were  they  not  ?"  said 
Captain  Cornell,  the  only  Protestant  present. 

"  You  might  say  that,  your  honor  !  I  hard  ould 
people  tell  that  the  monks  of  Mellifont  had  as  much 
silver  an'  goold  in  a  manner  as  the  king  himself." 

At  this  the  ladies  laughed,  and  the  woman  waxed 
somewhat  indignant.  "  You  may  laugh  as  much  as 
you  like,  ladies  !"  said  she,  "  but  I'm  tellin'  you  the 
truth,  as  I  hard  it  from  them  that  was  oulder  an' 
wiser  than  myself.  An'  more  by  token,  they  say 
there's  a  power  of  that  same  goold  and  silver  buried 
here  still." 

"  Why,  how  could  that  be  ?"  said  Giacomo;  "  why 
would  the  monks  bury  their  gold  and  silver?" 

"  Bekase  they  were  turned  out  at  last  by  the — 
ahem  !  by  the  English,  an'  the  house  taken  over  their 
heals,  an'  they  were  afeard  to  take  iheir  treasures 
with  them,  for  fear  they'd  be  taken  from  them,  so 
they  buried  them  somewheres  about  the  Abbey, 
thinkin'  that  some  day  or  another  they'd  be  back 
agiin.     But,  ochone  !  that  day  never  came  since  !" 

"  But  how  do  people  know  that  the  treasures  are 
concealed  here  ?"  inquired  Maj  >r  Melville. 

"  Well !  they  don't  know  it  for  sartin,  your  honor 


342  THE    OLD    I10USE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

but  it  was  always  said  so,  an'  sure  some  got  the 
Knowledge  of  it  in  drames." 

"Indeed?" 

"Indee.l  t'iey  did,  your  honor,  air  people  have 
come  here  in  sarch  of  the  same  treasures,  from  the 
farthest  pacts  of  Ireland.  It  isn't  very  long  since  a 
man  came  from  Connaught,  all  the  ways," 

"  rrcn  Connaught  ?  is  it  possible  ?  ' 

"Ay,  iujjjcl,  did  he  !— he  dramed,  it  seems,  that  if 
he'd  come  to  Mellifont  Abbey,  near  Drogheda,  on  the 
county  march  between  Louth  an'  Meath,  an'  dig 
down  at  a  particular  spot  among  the  ruins,  he'd  find 
enougli  of  goold  an'  silver  to  make  him  as  rich  as  a 
lord.  So  he  travelled  on  ever,  till  he  made  out  Mel- 
lifont, an  got  a  pick-axe  and  shovel  an'  a  crow-bar 
an'  wont  by  night  to  dig  down  at  the  spot  he  seen  in 
his  drame." 

"Well !"  said  Giacomo,  "  did  he  find  the  treasure?" 

"  No,  but  he  was  very  near  findin'  it;  after  diggin' 
a  long  time  he  came  to  a  big  broad  stone,  an'  his 
heart  jumped  at  the  sight  for  he  knew  the  treasure 
was  right  undher  it,  but  jist  as  he  put  the  crow-bar 
in  umlher  the  stone  to  lift  it  up,  behowld  you,  some- 
thing all  in  white,  like  a  monk  with  a  hood  up  on  his 
head,  comes  an1  stands  right  fornenst  him  on  the  other 
side  o'  the  stone,  an'  its  hand  stretched  out  pointing 
to  the  road  he  came.  The  poor  man  was  scared 
enough,  you  may  be  sure,  an'  he  gathered  up  his  tools 
in  was  going  to  make  off  as  fast  as  ever  he  could, 
Btealin'  a  look  every  now  an'  again  at  the  great  tall 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  343 

monk,  but  jist  as  he  was  turnin  to  go  away,  he  hears 
a  voice  savin1 — <  Cover  the  stone  again  !'  an'  with  that 
the  sperit  vanished,  an1  maybe  the  poor  man  didn't 
make  haste  to  do  what  he  was  bid,  an'  do  it  well,  too, 
so  as  that  nobody  'id  know  that  the  place  was  dug 
up,  at  all  !,r 

So  that  was  the  end  of  the,  Connaught  man's 
dream  !"  said  Miss  Ackland  smiling,  "  and  so  ends 
many  another  dream,"  she  added,  turning  to  the 
others;  "the  search  for  earthly  treasures  is  sure  to 
end  in  disappointment,  and  we  may  all  learn  from 
the  experi  nee  of  this  unlucky  treasure-seeker.  Just 
when  we  have  reached,  as  it  were,  the  fulfilment  of 
our  cherished  dream  of  life,  comes  some  spectre  from 
the  unexplored  regions  of  possibility  to  warn  us 
thence,  and  cover  up  once  and  forever  the  treasure 
we  had  so  coveted." 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  her  voice  trembled 
with  emotion.  Major  Melville  drew  her  arm  within 
his,  and  led  her  away,  but  not  before  he  had  given 
the  good  woman  a  piece  of  silver,  which  example  was 
followed  by  the  other  gentlemen,  and  thanking  the 
dame  for  her  very  acceptable  information,  they  left 
her  to  fill  her  pitcher  at  St.  Mary's  fountain  and 
hurry  home  with  her  prize. 

"  Now,  good  people,"  said  Miss  Ackland.  when 
they  had  made  the  circuit  of  the  ruins,  "  it  is  about 
time  to  have  dinner,  or  lunch,  or  whatever  you  may 
choosoto  call  it — I  see  Tom  has  brought  the  baskets 
hither,  as  I  told  him,  so  let  us  choose  our  sa//e-a- 


344  THE    OLD    IIOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE. 

manger,  and  sit  down.     Gentlemen,"  to  the  two  offi 
cers,  "you  will,  I  hope,  favor  us  with  your  company?' 

The  gentlemen  were  only  too  happy  to  be  asked, 
and  a  place  was  chosen  on  the  bank  of  the  little  river, 
where  the  sward  was  fresh  and  green,  in  the  shade 
of  the  projecting  rock,  and  the  ruined  gate-tower  of 
the  ancient  Abbey.  The  spot  commanded  a  view  of 
the  entire  valley,  scattered  all  over  with  the  moul- 
dering, dilapidated  relics  of  departed  wealth  and 
power,  glorious  mementoes  of  the  faith,  and  piety, 
and  charity  of  dead  ages,  and  of  generations  passed 
away.  A  spell  hung  over  the  place ;  an  air  of  reli- 
gions peace,  of  deep  solemnity,  pervaded  every  object, 
and  the  sun  shone  there  with  a  mellow,  softened 
lustre  that  harmonized  with  the  solemn  aspect  of  the 
place ;  tenderly,  caressingly,  as  it  were,  those  yellow 
sunbeams  fell  on  the  ruined  fane,  and  the  broken 
Abbey- walls,  and  the  graves  of  the  sainted  dead. 

During  the  repasL,  the  conversation  turned,  as  was 
natural,  on  the  ancient  glories  of  the  place ;  Major 
Melville  was  passably  well  acquainted  with  them,  and 
told  how  richly  Mellifont  had  been  endowed  by  Irish 
princes  and  by  Norman  lords,  in  the  ages  following 
its  first  foundation;  how  the  Abbots  of  Mellifont  sat 
as  lords  in  the  Irish  Parliament  of  those  days,  and 
ruled  with  salutary  sway  the  broad  domains  given 
their  Order  for  God's  service  and  the  poor's.  Amongst 
other  things  he  told  how  Hugh  O'Neil,  the  great  Earl 
of  Tyrone,  had  within  the  walls  of  Mellifont  Abbey 
Burrendered  his  sword  to  Lord  Mountjoy,  Queen  Eliza 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         34b 

beth's  successful  generil,  and  with  his  sword  the  last 
hope  of  that  generation  of  Irish  Catholics. 

"  And  there  is  another  sad  memory  connected  with 
Mellifont,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  "  which  Major  Mel- 
ville is  probably  forgetting,  for  he  cannot  but  have 
heard  or  read  it.  You  remember,  Giacomo,  the 
princess  of  Breffni,  Dervorgilla,  whose  tragical  his- 
tory  I  gave  you  to  read  a  few  days  since?" 

"  What !  the  wife  of  (TRourke,  your  Irish  Helen 
who  was  carried  off  by  Dermot— Dermot  some- 
thing ?" 

"Dermot  MacMurragh— precisely.  Well!  it  was 
here  she  spent  her  latter  years,  in  rigorous  penance, 
and  died  at  a  good  old  age;  contrite  and  humble  but 
full  of  hope  in  the  mercy  of  God.'1 

Giacomo  hearing  this  was  much  interested,  and 
Miss  Ackland  went  on  to  tell  how  the  same  Dervor- 
gilla in  the  days  of  her  youth  and  innocence  had  pre- 
sented a  golden  chalice  for  the  high  altar  of  the  Abbey- 
church,  with  rare  and  costly  vestments.  "Who 
could  have  foreseen  that  day,"'  she  added,  "that 
other  when  she  should  come  to  hide  her  shame  be- 
neath those  venerable  walls,  and  humbly  seek  admis- 
sion amongst  the  pious  sisterhood  of  whose  company 
contrition  and  mortification  could  alone  make  her 
worthy.  Two  striking  pictures  of  human  life  in  the 
light  of  prosperity  and  the  darkness  of  disgrace! 
Of  course,  Major  Melville,  you  know  Moore's  beauti 
ful  '  Song  of  O'Rourke,'  founded  on  this  sad  story  ?" 

"Yes,  I  know  it— who  does  not?" 


346  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  be  good  enough  to  sing  it 
for  our  young  foreigners  here,  who  have  never  heard 
it,  I  am  sure?" 

"  With  great  pleasure,  Miss  Ackland  ! — such  as  my 
vocal  powers  are,  they  are  at  your  service."  And, 
without  further  preface,  he  sang  one  of  the  best 
known  and  most  generally  popular  of  all  the  melo- 
dies, that  fine  historical  ballad,  commencing,  "  The 
Valley  Lay  Smiling  Before  Me." 

The  song  was  well  sung,  and  Giacoma  and  Mad- 
dalena  were  deligh:ed,  as  was  also  Rose,  for  Colleen 
Ukas  so  udka  na  mJ*  was  one  of  the  airs  she  had 
learned  to  love  in  her  earliest  childhood. 

"Apropos  to  love,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  "I  will  tell 
)0u  a  story,  short  it  must  be,  as  it  is  about  time  we 
were  starting  for  home.  It  occur,  ed  here  quite  near 
the  old  Abbey.  You  and  I,  Rose,  have  read  it  in  the 
Dublin  Penny  Journal.  A  young  miller  had  been 
betrothed  to  a  pretty  young  girl,  '  a  neighbor's  child,' 
as  the  country  people  would  say,  but,  sad  to  relate, 
the  young  man  died  before  the  marriage  had  taken 
place.  The  grief  of  his  affianced  bride  is  described 
as  heart-rending.  The  night  of  the  wake,  she  was 
suddenly  missed  from  amongst  her  sympathizing  re- 
latives and  friends;  search  was  made  everywhere, 
and  at  length  the  horrible  suspicion  came  into  the 
minds  of  some  present  that  the  girl  had  committed 
suicide.  It  was  not  till  all  hopes  of  finding  her  had 
been  given  up,  that  she  was  found  dead  and  cold  be- 

*  The  Pretty  Girl  milking  her  Cow. 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         347 

side  her  lover,  where  he  was  laid  {  under  board,'  as  the 
peasantry  call  it;  unheeded,  she  had  crept  in  by  his 
side,  and  there  laid  her  down  to  die.1' 

This  story  drew  tears  from  Maddaleua,  and  Rose 
locked  askance  at  Giacomo  with  a  strange,  sweet 
trouble  in  her  eyes.  He  saw  the  glance  and  it  made 
his  heart  thrill  with  joyful  emotion.  The  repast  was 
now  ended,  and  it  was  not  without  reluctance  that 
eome,  at  least,  of  the  party  left  the  vale  of  Mellifont 
— happier,  nevertheless,  than  when  they  entered  its 
uallowed  precincts. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Although  Giacomo  was  to  have  left  on  the  follow* 
mg  clay,  it  happened,  whether  by  accident  or  design, 
that  the  vessel  in  which  he  was  to  have  gone,  sailed 
without  him.  Nor  did  he  appear  to  apprehend  any 
disagreeable  consequences  from  the  delay,  although 
Maddalena  made  herself  miserable  over  the  prospect 
of  her  father's  displeasure,  dreading  its  effects  for 
Giacomo.  But  the  latter  only  smiled,  and  said  he 
would  trust  to  her  mediation  to  obtain  his  forgive- 
ness. And  how  much  longer,  she  asked,  did  he  in- 
tend to  remain  ?  Oh  !  of  course,  till  the  next  oppor- 
tunity, which  might  not  be  for  a  week  or  two.  His 
sang  /raid  surprised  Miss  Ackland  and  Rose,  the 
more  so  as  it  contrasted  so  oddly  with  the  fears  he 
had  formerly  entertained  of  incurring  his  father's 
ano-er.  "  Either,"  said  Miss  Ackland  to  herself, 
"  either  his  father  is  not  so  severe  as  he  used  to  be, 
or  our  friend  Giacomo  is  not  quite  so  dutiful."  And 
do  as  she  would  these  thoughts  would  keep  posses- 
sion of  her  mind.  As  for  Rose,  she  appeared  neither 
to  trouble  herself  much  about  the  possible  con- 
sequences, nor  to  reason  on  the  propriety  or  impro- 
priety of  Giacomo's  postponing  his  departure;  she 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOTNE.         349 

did,  indeed,  rally  him  on  it,  but  in  a  way  that  showed 
whether  she  meant  it  or  not,  her  entire  satisfaction-, 
Its  effect  on  the  Brodigan  sisters  was  very  remark 
able.  Only  a  few  days  had  passed  after  it  became 
known  that  the  vessel  had  sailed  without  him,  when 
Miss  Brodigan  took  the  opportunity  of  informing 
Harry  Cusack  that  the  affair  was  all  settled,  meaning 
a  match  between  the  young  Leghorner  and  Rose  Ack- 
land.  Harry  was  a  little  disconcerted,  at  first,  but 
Ann  so  far  unbent  from  her  usual  hauteur  as  to  con- 
descend to  entertain  him,  w  Inch  she  did  to  such  good 
effjet  that  Cusack  begaa  to  think  she  might  really 
suit  him  better  than  Rose  Ackland.  The  reader 
may  possibly  think  of  Reynard  and  his  sour  grapes 
in  this  connection,  and  smile  at  the  thought,  but  we 
will  not  say  that  honest  Harry  thought  of  any  such 
analogy.  lie  thought  of  one  thing,  however,  which 
effectually  urged  him  on  over  the  threshold  of  des- 
tiny, and  that  was, — a  luminous  idea  surely 
that  by  popping  the  question  to  Ann  Brodigan, 
and  obtaining  her  consent  on  which,  although 
no  coxcomb,  he  counted  with  some  degree  of  cer- 
tainty,— he  should  deprive  the  good  people  of  his  na- 
tive town  of  the  opportunity  of  laughing  at  his  ex- 
pense, as  he  had  some  reason  to  think  they  would  it 
the  supposition  of  Rosa's  possible  engagement  to  Gi 
acomo  was  once  noised  abroad.  On  these  consider- 
ations, and  as  a  sort  of  dernier  ressorf,  Harry  Cusack 
proposed  for  Miss  Brodigan,  senior,  and  was  accepted 
with  the  best  grace  possible  under  the  circumstances, 


850         THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

The  iiews  of  the  elder  sister's  engagement  had 
Bcarcely  set  Dame  Rumor's  many  voices  talking, 
when  all  Drogheda  was  astounded  by  the  still  less 
expected  tidings  that  the  younger  was  also  "  engaged' 
to  Mr.  Tiern  in,  a  business  connection  of  her  father's, 
and  a  man  who,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  nature, 
might  have  been  her  father  himself.  This  was  the 
greatest  puzzle  of  all  for  the  gossips  of  the  old  borough, 
and  any  number  of  visits  were  paid  with  the  intention 
whether  expressed  or  understood,  of  discussing  a 
piece  of  intelligence  which  was  pretty  generally  set 
down  as  "  strange  -passing  strange — wonderful!"  At 
first  it  was  doubted,  but  the  public  doubt  soon  gave 
place  to  private  and  individual  certainty  when  it  be- 
came known  that  the  day  was  appointed,  the  same 
day  for  both  sisters,  and  the  wedding  dresses  actually 
in  course  of  preparation.  Well !  after  that  the  towns- 
people said,  they  should  not  wonder  at  anything; 
about  Harry  Cusack  and  Ann  they  would  not  so 
much  miud,  for,  after  all,  Harry's  attentions  had  been 
pretty  fairly  divided  between  her  and  Rose  Ackland 
but  that  Jane,  the  prettiest  and  youngest  of  the  two 
should  consent  to  have  Tiernan,  that  was  almost  in 
credible,  and  formed  undoubtedly  a  nine  days'  won 
der,  the  greatest  of  the  season. 

What  was  known  and  talked  of  all  over  the  town 
could  not  fail  to  reach  the  quiet  dwelling  of  the  Ack« 
lands :  indeed,  Mr.  Brodigan  himself  came,  in  the 
joy  of  his  heart,  and  with  his  usual  singleness  of  pur- 
pose, to  inform  Miss  Ackland,  in  virtue  of  their  long 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         351 

friendship,  of  the  double  marriage  about  to  take  place. 
Miss  Ackland,  in  all  sincerity,  offered  her  congratula- 
tions, and  expressed  no  surprise  whatever.  The 
young  people  barely  waited  till  Mr.  Brodigin  was 
gone  to  make  their  own  comments  on  what  they  had 
heard.  Maddalena,  who  had  seen  Mr.  Tiernan  more 
than  once,  said  it  was  "  a  sad  pity  for  so  pretty  a  girl 
as  Signora  Jane  to  marry  a  man  so  much  older  than 
herself;  she  was  sure  the  Signor  Tiernan  was  as  old 
as  her  father." 

"And  not  half  so  good-looking,"  put  in  Giacomo. 

"  No,  indeed,  mio  ftaUllo,  I  do  not  think  h'.m  fine, 
at  all,  the  Signor  Tiernan." 

The  ladies  smiled  and  Giacomo  laughed — "  You 
mean  handsome^  Maddalena." 

The  girl  colored  as  she  looked  from  one  smiling 
face  to  the  other.  "  And  was  it  not  the  same  I 
said  ? — is  not  fine  the  same  as  '  good-looking  ?'  " 

"  Not  exactly  the  same,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Ack- 
land, to  whom  she  had  addressed  herself;  "  in  your 
language  it  is,  and  also  in  the  French,  but  in  English 
the  words  have  two  distinct  meanings.  We  never 
use  the  word  fine  in  the  way  in  which  you  used  it 
just  now.  You  should  have  said  '  handsome'  instead 
of  <  fine.'  " 

During  this  brief  colloquy  Giacomo  said  to  Rose 
in  an  under  tone — "  Can  you  guess  why  the  two  Miss 
Brodigans, — and  Mr.  Cusack,  too,  have  so  taken  the 
whole  town  by  surprise  ?" 


852  THE    OLD    HOI  JSE    BY    THE    BOYNB. 

11  Not  I — nor  you,  either,  I  think,"  she  replied  in 
the  same  tone. 

"  In  that  you  are  mistaken.  Rose  !" — he  had  taken 
to  calling  her  so  ever  since  the  day  of  the  visit  to 
Mellifont; — "  I  think  I  ctm.guess  the  reason." 

"  And  pray  what  is  it  ?" 

Rose  looked  up  at  the  moment,  and  reading  the 
answer  in  his  eyes,  she  colored  to  the  temples  and 
rose  in  some  confusion,  for  the  ostensible  purpose  of 
taking  a  book  from  the  table,  but  in  reality  to  hide 
her  face  from  observation. 

It  was  quite  remarkable  how  subdued  she  had  be- 
come all  of  a  sudden,  and  how  much  less  quick  at 
repartee.  Her  aunt,  during  those  days,  complimented 
her  occasionally  on  her  good  behavior,  telling  her 
that  she  began  to  have  hopes  of  her,  now  that  she 
was  becoming  more  guarded  in  her  speech,  and  more 
reserved  in  her  demeanor.  The  faintest  possible 
smile  might  have  been  detecte  1  playing  about  Rose's 
mouth,  and  her  dark  eyes  twinkled  with  something 
of  their  sportive  mischief,  but  she  seemed  to  take  the 
compliment  in  perfect  good  faith,  and  gravely  ex- 
pressed her  satisfaction  that  her  aunt  found  her  im- 
proving. 

The  middle  of  October  was  past,  and  the  trees 
were  almost  bare,  the  foliage  that  had  been  their 
beauty  and  their  pride  lay  rotting  in  the  dust,  and 
the  earth  was  gladsome  no  more.  Cold  winds  whis- 
tled through  chinks  and  crannies,  doors  and  windows 
creaked,   and    f  reside   pleasures   were  again  in  de- 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNR.         353 

mand.  Giacomo  had  not  yet  found  another  oppor- 
tunity of  returning  home,  and  Maddalena's  fears  grew 
every  day  stronger,  especially  as  they  had  not  heard 
fr)m  their  father  for  over  two  weeks.  Otherwise 
she  was  well  content,  and  began  to  feel  very  much 
at  home.  It  is  true,  her  fears  had  not  at  all  subsided 
in  regard  to  Captain  Melville's  ghost,  and  many  a 
time  she  stole  into  the  kitchen  to  have  a  talk  with 
Nancy  on  that  solemn  and  mysterious  subject,  which 
had  all  the  more  attractions  for  her  simple,  girlish 
mind  because  of  its  being  so  carefully  excluded  from 
the  general  conversation  of  the  family. 

It  was  one  of  those  cold,  gray  evenings  which  the 
late  autumn  is  wont  to  bring;  the  little  circle  were 
seated  around  the  fire  between  day  and  dark,  in  that 
old  back  parlor  so  much  endeared  to  Miss  Ackland 
and  Rose,  and  to  Giacomo,  too,  by  its  sweet  and  ten- 
der associations.  Rose  had  just  left  the  piano,  after 
singing  that  beautiful  "Evening  Hymn  of  the  Cala- 
brian  Shepherds ;"  Miss  Ackland  repeated  the  first 
stanzas,  dwelling  on  their  touching  beauty  and  the 
tender  piety  that  breathes  in  every  line — 

"  Darker  and  darker  fall  around 
The  shadows  from  the  pine, 
It  is  ihe  h  U"  with  praise  and  prayer 
To  gather  round  'hy  shrine. 

"Hear  us,  sweet  Mother!  thou  hast  knoirp 
Our  earthly  h  pes  and  fears, 
Th*1  bittern  ss  of  mortal  toil, 
The  tenderness  of  tearg." 


S54        THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNB. 

A  knock  was  heard  at  the  front  door,  and  Nancy's 
slip-shod  feet  were  heard  in  the  hall  as  she  went  to 
open  it.  Rose,  hoping  it  might  be  Mr.  Brodigan  and 
some  of  his  family,  opened  the  parlor  door  a  little 
way  and  looked  out,  but  drew  back  when  she  saw  in 
th<3  dim  light  a  strange  gentleman  for  whom  Nancy 
had  just  opened  the  door.  The  next  moment  Nancy 
was  heard  to  utter  a  loud  scream,  then  ran  into  the 
parlor  at  full  speed,  and  to  the  surprise  of  every  one 
caught  Miss  Ackland  by  the  arm,  and  gasping  for 
breath,  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not,  her  eyes  start- 
ing from  their  sockets,  fixed  wildly  on  the  door. 

"  Dear  me  !  Nancy,  what  is  the  matter?"  said  Miss 
Ackland;  "is  there  anything  wrong?" 

"What  have  you  seen?"  cried  Rose,  who,  with 
Maddalena,  was  almost  as  frightened  as  Nancy  her- 
self. 

"  I  will  go  and  see  what  it  is,"  said  Giacomo,  but 
just  then  a  wild  scream  burst  from  Nancy's  ashy  lips, 
and,  pointing  to  the  door,  she  cried — 

"  There — there  he  is  !"  and  she  crouched  in  a  cor- 
ner behind  her  mistress,  unheeded  by  any  one,  for 
all  eyes  were  turned  towrards  the  open  door,  where  a 
man  of  gentlemanly  appearance  and  of  middle  age 
stood  regarding  the  astonished  group  with  a  smiling 
countenance. 

"  My  father !"  cried  Giacomo  and  Maddalena  in  a 
breath. 

"Your  father?"  cried  Miss  Ackland;  "good  God! 
it  is  Ralph  Melville  !"     Her  head   swam,  her   brair 


THE  OLD  UOLsK  BY  THE  BOTNE.         355 

burned  and  she  would  have  fallen  senseless  and  mo- 
tionless to  the  floor  had  not  Rose  been  near  enough 
to  catch  her  in  her  arms.  Hastily  disengaging  him- 
self from  Maddalena's  fond  embrace,  the  Siijnor  Mel- 
ville,  as  we  shall  yet  call  him,  approached,  and,  tak- 
ing Miss  Ackland  in  his  arms,  laid  her  gently  on  a 
sofa,  then  watched  her  with  tender  interest,  while 
Rose  and  Maddalena  applied  restoratives. 

Meanwhile  Nancy  rose,  and,  with  the  lightness  of 
twenty  years  before,  darted  up  to  the  new  arrival, 
and,  taking  him  by  the  arm,  looked  up  in  his  face, 
every  feature  of  her  own  working  convulsively. 

'So  you're  not  dead,  after  all,  Captain  dear?  It 
isn't  your  ghost,  at  all,  that's  in  it?" 

"  No,  Nancy,  my  old  acquintance !  I  am  not  dead, 
nor  is  it  my  ghost  you  see,  any  more  than  I  see 
yours.     But  let  us  attend  to  your  mistress." 

"Mushm'  thank  God  she's  beginirin'  to  come  to," 
said  Nancy;  "ah!  poor  Miss  Lyddy  !  sine  if  joy 'id 
kill  any  one  she'd  never  come  to,  at  all !  The  Lord 
be  praised  !  the  Lord  be  praised  !  An'  me  sayin'  the 
Rosary  for  his  soul  every  night  of  my  life,  sure!" 

When  Miss  Ackland,  heaving  a  deep  sigh,  at  last 
opened  her  eyes,  the  first  object  on  which  they  fell 
was  Ralph  Melville,  the  lover  of  her  youth,  the 
mourned  of  her  riper  years,  the  dream  of  her  life, 
kneeling  on  one  knee  beside  her,  holding  her  hand  in 
his,  and  watching  with  eager  anxiety  the  gradual 
return  of  life  and  consciousness  to  her  languid  frame. 
She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  at  him  only,  then  (dosed 


856  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TUE    BOYXfl. 

her  eyes  again  without  an  effort  to  speak,  as  though 
fearing  that  the  blissful  vision  might  vanish,  as  s<s 
many  others  had  done  before.  But  the  sound  of  her 
name,  spoken  in  the  old  familiar  tones  that  had  haunt- 
ed her  heart  all  those  dreary  years  like  a  funeral  dirge, 
and  the  pressure  of  the  hand  that  she  had  never 
hoped  to  feel  aga;n,  assured  her  that  now,  at  least, 
her  imagination  had  not  deceived  her,  that  she  saw, 
an 3  heard,  and  felt  Ralph  Melville,  his  very  self,  a 
creature  of  flesh  and  blood,  though  how  he  came  to 
be  still  in  the  flesh  was  yet  a  mystery.  He  had  risen 
and  now  stood  looking  down  on  her  with  his  own 
old  smile. 

Bending  down,  he  touched  her  forehead  with  his 
lips,  "  for  the  first  time,  Lydia  !"  he  said  in  a  tremulous 
vorce,  "  but  you  will  pardon  it  now,  will  you  not  V 
She  smiled,  as  he  whispered,  "Are  you  now  con- 
vinced ?"  He  turned  then  to  embrace  his  children, 
holding  Maddalena  longest  in  his  arms,  and  holding 
up  her  faoe  to  see  whether  she  was  changed. 

Rose  had  timidly  withdrawn  herself  from  the  little 
circle  around  the  sofa,  and  stood  with  Nancy  con- 
templating the  group  with  tearful  eyes.  Nancy  was 
in  ecstacies,  making  all  sorts  of  odd  gesticulations, 
occasionally  giving  vent  to  her  overflowing  delight  in 
a  manner  peculiar  to  herself — "  Oh  !  the  darlin'  tho 
clarlin1!  isn't  it  new  lifeto  see  him  again  !  Look  at 
him  now !  didn't  I  often  tell  y  >u  what  he  was,  Miss 
Rosey  dear  ?" 

11  But  you  weren't  quite  so  glad  to  see  him  when  he 


THE  OLD  nOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNB.        357 

3ame  to  the  door!"  Rose  said,  smiling  through  her 
tears;  she,  too,  was  watching  Ralph  Melville  with 
admiring  eyes,  her  heart  glowing  with  sympathetic 
joy.  She  kept  looking  from  him  to  her  aunt,  and 
from  her  aunt  to  him,  scarcely  daring  to  credit  the 
evidence  of  her  senses  that  they  were  again  together 
in  life  and  health  as  she  saw  them  then.  But  she  was 
not  left  long  to  her  own  thoughts,  for  Mr.  Melville 
cast  his  eyes  around  as  if  seeking  some  one  else,  and 
Giacomo  taking  her  hand  drew  her  forward,  smiling 
and  blushing  as  she  was. 

"  Father  !"  said  the  young  man  "  you  have  forgot- 
ten Rose — our  Rose  !"and  he  glanced  at  Maddalena, 
who  said  in  her  eager,  childish  way — 

"  Yes.  indeed,  brother  !  our  Rose— our  own,  own 
Rose !"  And  she  laughingly  pushed  Rose  into  her 
father's  arms,  saying — il  There,  il  mio  padre,  there  is 
another  child  for  you." 

Mr.  Melville  looked  at  Giacomo  and  smiled. 
"  With  all  my  heart !"  said  he,  "  had  she  nothing  but 
her  name  to  recommend  her,  she  would  be  thrice 
welcome  to  me — but  she  is  more  than  an  Ackland, 
she  is  worthy  of  the  name, — as  I  know  from  the  hold 
she  has  gained  on  the  hearts  of  my  children.  She  is 
handsome,  Lydia  !"  he  said,  turning  to  Miss  Ackland, 
u  but  not  at  all  like  you." 

"  No';  half  so  handsome"'  put  in  Rose,  regarding 
her  aunt  with  a  look  of  proud  affection,  at  which 
Ralph  Melville  smiled  ;  he  was  probably  of  the  same 
opinion.     Miss  Ackland,  now  quite  recovered,  yet 


358  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

still  pale  with  wonder,  sat  motionless,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  him  who  really  seemed  to  her  as  one  risen 
from  the  dead. 

*'  Can  it  be  possible,  Ralph,"  she  said  at  length, 
"  that  after  all  the  long  years  during  which  you  were 
mourned  as  dead,  I  see  you  still  alive  ?  It  seems 
hard  to  realize  it." 

"An'  us  piayin1  for  him,  Miss  Lyddy  !  an'  doin' 
everything  we  could  for  his  poor  sowl !" 

At  this  every  one  laughed,  and  Mr.  Melville  said — > 
"  My  poor  soul  had  need  of  your  prayers,  Nancy  ! 
even  thougli  it  was  still  in  the  body,  and  I  hope  it 
benefitted  by  them,  too  !  But  you  must  have  been 
sadly  discouraged,  I  fear,  to  find  my  poor  soul  still 
wandering  on  earth  after  you  had  been  full  twenty 
years  praying  for  its  repose." 

"  No,  I  wasn't  discouraged,"  said  Nancy  stoutly, 
"  I  only  prayed  the  harder." 

"  But  how  was  it,  father,"  said  Giacomo  very  se- 
riously, "  that  Miss  Ackland  really  saw,  or  supposed 
she  saw  you,  several  weeks  ago,  on  the  esplanade  in 
front  of  the  hall-door  ?     Were  you  here,  then  ?" 

"  Certainly  not ;  this  is  the  first  time  in  three-and- 
twenty  years  that  I  set  foot  about  this  house,  or  in 
the  town  of  Droghcda." 

"  It  must  have  been  your  fetch,  then,"  said  Miss 
Ackland  gravely, ';  for  I  see  you  no  plainer  now  than 
I  saw  you  then." 

"  What  it  was,  Lydia,  that  took  my  shape  and 
form,  I  cannot  say, '  he  replied ;  "  I  only  know  that  1 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         359 

fc-as  not  here  in  person — though  in  spirit  L  well  might 
have  been/'  he  added  in  a  tone  meant  only  for  her 
own  ear. 

"  Oh  Lord  !"  groaned  Nancy  from  her  corner,  "  if 
I  had  only  known — if  I  had  only  known  that  the  poor 
dear  Captain  wasn't  dead,  at  all,  wouldn't  it  have 
given  me  an  aisy  mind,  anyhow  ?" 

"  So,  father,"  said  Giacomo,  "  I  can  now  under- 
stand the  strange  attraction  I  found  in  Miss  Ack- 
land." 

"  How  do  you  mean,  my  son  ?" 

"  Why  it  always  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  had  seen  or 
known  her  a  long  time  ago ;  now  I  know  that  it  was 
because  I  had  seen  her  portrait  in  your  private  desk 
when  I  was  a  little  child." 

"  You  saw  it,  then  ?"  said  his  father  with  a  start. 

"  Yes,  father,  I  may  now  confess  it,  and  the  face 
haunted  me  ever  after,  hence,  as  I  suppose,  the  be- 
fore unaccountable  feeling  of  curiosity,  with  which 
I  used  to  regard  Miss  Acklan  1,  wondering,  as  it  were, 
why  I  did  so." 

"My  dear  Giacomo,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  "I  am 
glad  to  find  that  we  were  mutually  interested  in  each 
other.  I  had  never  seen  your  portrait  nor  was  it 
your  features  that  reminded  me  of  one  whom  I  sup 
posed  long  dead,"  and  she  glanced  at  his  father,  "  but 
there  was  that  in  your  voice  and  in  your  smile  that 
brought  him  constantly  before  me.  Even  Mabel  no- 
ticed the  resemblance  there.  You  remember  Mabel 
Ralph  ?" 


S60  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

"  Indeed  I  do  ' — poor  Mabel !  is  she  still  alive  ?" 

"  I  can  barely  say  she  is ;  her  race  is  almost  run. 
But  it  will  give  her  new  life  to  see  you  once  again 
before  she  dies,  and  to  see  us  together  as  of  old." 

" Shall  we  not  go  soon  to  see  her — you  and  I?" 

"  To-morrow  as  early  as  you  will." 

"  Then  you  were  not  born  in  Italy,  father  ?"  said 
Maddalena. 

"  No,  my  child,  I  was  born  here  in  Ireland.  Miss 
Ackland  can  tell  you  why  I  left  it."' 

"  But  our  name  is  an  Italian  one,  surely !"  said  Gi- 
acomo,  hesitatingly. 

"An  Italianized  French  one,"  replied  his  father 
with  a  grave  smile — "  Melville,  yow  know,  is  a  purely 
French  n 'me  —  one  of  those  brought  into  these 
islands  by  our  Norman  ancestors;  it  was  easy  chang- 
ing it  into  the  Italian  Malvili  when  one  desired  to 
change  their  identity." 

"And  you  desired  to  change  yours,"  said  Miss  Ack- 
land with  strong  emotion,  "  in  order  to  punish  one 
whom  you  supposed  had  wronged  you." 

"  No,  no,  not  to  punish,  Lydia  !  surely  not  to  pun- 
ish, for  I  had  no  reason  to  suppose  that  my  appear- 
ance or  disappearance  was  of  any  importance  what- 
ever to  the  person  in  question." 

"And  now?" 

Mr.  Melville  paused  a  moment,  during  which  ho 
and  Mis 3  Ackland  regarded  each  other  in  silence ; 
then  he  replied — "  That  I  am  now  of  a  somewhat 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  361 

different  opiiion  is,  I  think,  sufficiently  manifest  from 
the  fact  of  my  being  here." 

"  Who  enlightened  you  on  that  head  ?" 

"  My  brother !" 

"  What,  Guy  !— Major  Melville  ?" 

"  Precisely." 
,     An   exclamation   of  surprise   here  burst  simulta- 
neously  from  Giacomo  and  Maddalena,  "  Major  Mel- 
ville our  uncle  !" — "  Is  it  possible  ?" 

Rose  only  smiled,  which  Giacomo  noticing,  said — 
"  This  news  does  not  seem  to  surprise  you,  Rose,  as 
it  does  us." 

"  Certiinly  not;  I  have  known  for  some  time  that 
Major  Melville  was  the  brother  of  the  Captain  Mel- 
ville whom  my  aunt  had  known  in  her  younger4 
days " 

"  And  of  whose  perturbed  spirit  you  and  Nancy 
were  so  much  afraid." 

"  And  Maddalena,  too,  Aunt  Lydia!  —were  you  net 
afraid  of  the  gl.ost,  Maddalena?" 

Maddalena  blushed,  looked  at  her  father  and  hung 
her  head,  but  made  no  answer.  Her  father  tapped 
her  glowing  cheek  with  his  finger,  ami  said — "  Never 
mind,  mia  carissima,  you  did  not  suppose  it  was 
your  father's  ghost,  else,  I  am  sure,  you  would  not 
have  been  so  much  afraid  of  it." 

Nancy  was  here  dispatched  to  the  kitchen  to  com- 
mence preparations  for  supper,  a  meal  seldom  taken 
in  that  house,  at  least  for  many  years  past.  "  Misa 
Rose  shall  go  by  and  by  to  assist  you,"  Miss  Ack- 


562  the  old  house  by  the  boyne. 

Land  whispered,  "  but  go  now, — you  shall  have  lime 
enough  to  look  at  Captain  Melville."  Nancy  betook 
herself  to  her  task  with  such  alacrity  as  she  had  not 
shown  for  many  a  long  year  past. 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  Maddalena,  "  only  to  think  that 
it  was  Major  Melville  who  caught  us  the  other  day 
at  Mellifont  when  we  fell  from  those  old  steps.  Was 
not  that  strange  ?" 

"I  was  just  thinking  so,"  replied  Miss  Ackland; 
"  if  the  Major  knew  who  you  were,  how  delighted  he 
must  have  been." 

"  Oh  !  he  knew  me,  I  am  sure,  for  I  was  quite 
ashamed  to  see  how  he  looked  at  me.  I  thought  it 
was  very  strange." 

"  But  I  did  not,"  Miss  Ackland  said,  "  although  I 
noticed  it  at  the  time.  No  one  who  had  ever  seen 
your  father  could  fail  to  be  struck  by  your  likeness  to 
him.  Did  you  know,  Ralph,  that  your  daughter  re- 
sembled you  so  much  ?" 

"  Oh  yes  !  I  have  been  often  told  so,  and  I  was 
inclined  to  suspect  them  of  flattery  who  said  so,  but 
since  you  have  discovered  the  likeness  I  am  to  suppose 
that  it  exists.  Giacomo  resembles  his  mother,"  he 
added  after  a  pause,  "  not  in  disposition,  though,  for 
in  that  respect,"  and  he  smiled  — "  I  believe  he  is  more 
like  me,  whereas  Maddalena  is  her  mother  in  all  save 
her  Irish  face.*' 

"  Then  her  mother  must  have  been  a  dear,  sweet, 
creature,"  said  Miss  Ackland,  patting  Maddalena1* 
hand  which  rested  on  the  arm  of  her  chair. 


TIIE    OLD    HOUSE    EY    THE    BOYNE.  3C3 

"  She  was  so,'1  said  Mr.  Melville,  with  perfect  com- 
posure, "  she  was  very  amiable,  and  deserving  of  all 
affection." 

"  More  than  you  had  to  give  her,"  said  Giacomo  to 
himself,  and  a  cloud  gathered  on  his  brow  as  he 
thought  of  the  strange  dislike  his  mother  had  for 
Drogheda,  a  place  she  never  saw.  That  dislike  was 
not  without  some  foundation,  as  the  young  man  now 
understood,  but  how  his  mother  came  to  suspect  any 
former  attachment  on  the  part  of  her  husband,  or 
what  her  reasons  were,  was  what  he  could  not  com- 
prehend. It  never  occurred  to  him,  what  was  really 
the  case,  that  his  father  was,  at  that  period  of  his 
life,  given  to  talking  in  his  sleep,  and  that  it  was,  con- 
sequently, from  his  own  lips  she  had  learned  a  secret 
which  had  much  disturbed  her  placid  mind,  till  the 
salutary  counsels  of  her  spiritual  director,  and  the 
supernatural  grace  drawn  from  the  frequent  reception 
of  the  Sacraments,  had  gradually  restored  her  equa- 
nimity by  raising  her  thoughts  and  her  affections  far 
above  the  creatures  of  earth.  But  all  this  beinc 
known  only  to  the  good  father  Rinolfi  was  never  to 
be  heard  by  mortal  ear,  and  was  as  dead  to  her  little 
world  as  the  gentle  Laura  herself. 

"  I  see  you  are  surprised  at  all  this,  my  dear  chil- 
dren," said  Mr.  Melville,  "  and  long  to  know  how  it 
happened  that  I  first  went  to  reside  in  Leghorn,  how 
I  came  to  change  my  name,  and  leave  those  who  had 
known  me  in  earlier  life  under  the  impression  that  I 
was  dead.     Will  you  pardon  me  when  I  say  that  I 


8b4  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

do  not  feel  disposed  at  present  to  enter  upon  details 
very  painful  in  the  recollection  ? ' 

"  My  dear  father,"  said  Giacoma,  "  I  have  no  de- 
sire, and  I  am  sure  neither  has  my  sister,  to  hear 
anything  from  you  that  it  would  give  you  pain  to 
tell."  Maddalena's  loving  eyes  said  the  same,  and 
more,  too,  and  their  father,  evidently  much  relieved, 
glanced  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  look  of  such 
tender  affection  that  they  felt  amply  repaid  for  what- 
ever self-denial  they  had  practised. 

A  few  minutes  after  Rose  all  of  a  sudden  started 
up,  and  asked  Maddalena  to  go  with  her  to  the 
schoolroom  to  arrange  something  there  for  the 
morning.  Giacoma  offered  his  services,  too,  and  the 
three  young  people  left  the  room  together. 

It  was  then  that  Ralph  Melville  first  gave  expres- 
sion to  the  joy  that  filled  his  heart  on  meeting  again, 
after  so  many  years  of  separation,  her  whom  he 
had  loved  with  the  heart's  first  pure  and  warm  affec- 
tion. 

"  I  know  all,  Lydia !"  said  he,  "  Guy  has  written  it 
all  to  me,  and  I  find  it  hard  to  forgive  myself  for 
all  I  have  unwittingly  made  you  suffer.  Nothing 
but  the  strong  assurance  I  received  of  your  conti- 
nued remembrance  of  me  could  have  induced  me  to 
make  my  existence  known  to  you." 

Tears  were  now  flowing  from  Miss  Ackland's 
downcast  eyes;  she  was  silent,  and  when  Mr.  Mel- 
ville seated  himself  beside  her,  and  took  her  hand  ic 
his,  he  felt  it  cold  and  trembling. 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         305 

"I  fear  you  are  growing  faint  again,"  he  said 
tenderly. 

"  No,  no,  I  am  quite  strong." 

He  looked  at  her  pale  and  agitated  features,  and 
smiled.     "  Will  you  forgive  me,  then  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  will,  Ralph  P  Miss  Ackland  said  in  a  faint 
voice ;  "  if  you  left  me  all  those  dark  years  in  igno- 
rance of  your  existence,  I  am  to  suppose  that  it  was 
because  you  thought  me  indifferent  as  to  your  fate. 
But  oh !  if  you  only  knew  what  I  suffered  from  re- 
morse of  conscience  whilst  imagining  that  my  silly 
pride  and  petulance  in  withholding  an  explanation 
had  been  the  cause  of  your  destruction  !  Oh  Ra^pb  ! 
when  I  think  of  that !" 

"  Poor  Lydia !  the  story  is  written  here  all  too 
plainly,"  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  her  head,  where  the 
silver  hairs  not  of  age  but  of  care  and  sorrow  were 
already  mingling  with  the  golden  brown  of  other 
days.  "  How  can  I  ever  make  amends  for  all  you 
have  suffered  on  my  account  ?  ' 

"  I  am  more  than  repaid  by  the  joy  of  seeing  you, 
of  hearing  your  voice,  when  I  had  so  long  believed 
you  dead,  and  indirectly,  if  not  directly,  through  my 
fault.  But  you  have  not  told  me,  Ralph,  how  you 
escaped — or  were  you  really  on  board  when  your 
ship  went  down  ?" 

"  I  was,"  he  replied  with  a  sudden  change  cf  man- 
ner ;  "  I  was  on  board." 

"  And  h  )w  were  you  saved  ?" 

*  When  all  except  myself  had  been  washed  awa/  ' 


366  TIIE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

from  the  deck,  or  drowned  below  in  the  water  that 
filled  every  part  of  the  sinking  ship,  I  gave  myself 
up  for  lost,  and  began  to  pray,  with  such  fervor  as  1 
never  prayed  before  ;  I  particularly  invoked  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  beseeching  her  to  save  me." 

"You  did?"  said  Miss  Ackland,  catching  his  arm, 
and  looking  anxiously  into  his  face.  "  And  what 
followed  ?     Go  on,  Ralph,  go  on  !" 

"  Just  at  that  moment  the  black  clouds  opened 
above  my  head,  and  a  star,  a  bright,  glittering  star 
appealed  in  its  lonely  beauty  ;  I  hailed  it  as  the  Star 
of  the  Sea, — and  I  said  from  my  heart — Ave  Maris 
Hello,  orapro  me!  Strengthened  as  it  were  by  a  new 
\  ope,  I  lashed  myself  to  a  spar,  and  finding  the  ves- 
sel sinking,  in  the  name  of  Mary  I  committed  myself 
to  the  deep." 

"  My  God  !  what  a  fearful  alternative  !" 

"  I  had  no  other.  I  knew  the  day  would  soon 
dawn,  and  trusted  to  our  ble  sed  Mother  to  send 
'some  vessel  that  way  in  time  to  save  me." 

"  A  nd  it  happened  so  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  had  been  some  two  hours  floating  on  the 
Barfa^e  of  the  sea,  now  gradually  becoming  calm, — 
f.«r  the  storm  had  subsided, — when  a  vessel  came  so 
aoar  that  I  was  seen  from  the  deck,  and  a  boat  being 
iir  mediately  sent  out,  I  was  rescued  from  my  perilous 
position,  just  as  my  strength  and  consciousness  were 
both  beginning  to  fail." 

"  So  it  was  the  Blessed  Virgin  who  saved  you  ?" 
cried  Miss  Ackland,  radiant  with  joy ;   "  and   your 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNK.  307 

prayers  and  mine  were  not  in  vain.  Do  you  know, 
Ralph,  when  I  heard  of  your  having  sailed  that  sad 
day,  I  specially  recommended  you  to  her  powerful 
protection,  and  you  see  you  were  inspired  to  do  the 
same.  Oh  Ralph !  how  much  do  we  owe  that  tender 
Mother  ! — shall  we  not  lo\e  and  serve  her  always  ?" 

"  I  have  endeavored  to  do  so  ever  since  then,"  said 
Melville,  deeply  touched  by  this  new  proof  of  the  af- 
fection he  had  once  so  blindly,  so  fatally  doubted. 
"  But  how  little  I  knew,  while  buffeting  the  waves 
that  night,  that  you  were  praying  for  me — that  your 
loving  solicitude  followed  me.  Oh  !  Lydia,  had  I  but 
known — had  some  consoling  spirit  revealed  it  to  me 
then,  how  many  years  of  sorrow  and  suffering  it 
would  have  saved  us  both — from  what  bitterness  of 
heart,  what  misanthropic  feeling  towards  my  fellow- 
creatures  it  would  have  saved  me !" 

"  Well !  we  must  not  murmur  against  the  will  of 
God  ! — those  dark  days  of  trial  and  of  tribulation 
were  for  us  days  of  grace,  and  out  of  their  blackness 
has  broken  the  sun  of  our  present  happiness." 

"  But  you  do  not  ask  me,"  said  Melville  after  a 
pause,  during  which  he  had  been  regarding  her  with 
a  look  of  ineffable  affection,  "you  do  not  ask  me  how 
I  came  to " 

"  To  forget  me  !" 

li  No,  not  exactly  that ;  I  never  forgot  you  in  tha 
ordinary  senje  of  the  word,  although  the  feelings 
with  which  I  did  remember  you  were  certainly  of  too 
btter  and  resentful  a  kind  to  be  pa:nful  lo  my  wife 


368  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE. 

did  she  but  know  of  them.  The  vessel  which  had 
picked  me  up  was  from  London,  happily  bound  for 
Civita  Vecchia,  and  thence  I  proceeded  immediately 
to  Leghorn.  I  resolved  to  give  up  the  nautical  pro- 
fession, and  quietly  settle  down  to  the  pursuit  of 
commerce.  My  mother  had  died,  as  you  know, 
some  time  before,  my  sister  was  in  her  novitiate  with 
the  Sisters  of  Mercy  in  Dublin,  and  there  was  only 
ray  brother  Guy  to  occupy  my  thoughts.  So  I  wrote 
to  him  an  account  of -my  providential  escape,  informing 
him  at  the  same  time  that  I  did  not  wish  to  have  it 
known,  least  of  all  to  your  family.  I  asked  him  what  I 
could  do  to  serve  him,  and  he  stated  in  his  answer  that 
if  I  could  obtain  him  a  commission  he  would  like  the 
profession  of  arms  better  than  anything  else.  So  I 
managed  to  purchase  the  commission  for  him  ;  he 
came  to  Leghorn  to  see  me  before  joining  his  regi- 
ment, which  was  then  stationed  at  Gibraltar,  and  we 
spent  some  pleasant  weeks  together,  at  least  as  plea- 
sant as  I  could  have  in  my  then  frame  of  mind.  I 
soon  after  obtained  a  junior  partnership  in  an  old  and 
respectable  firm,  and  under  the  name  of  Malvili  em- 
barked on  a  new  cireer.  One  of  the  partners,  S'gnor 
Salvati,  had  a  young  and  handsome  daughter,  Laura 
by  name,  who  being  an  only  child  and  heiress  to  her 
father's  large  fortune,  was,  of  course,  much  sought 
after." 

u  The  old  story,"  said  Miss  Ackland  with  a  melan« 
choly  smile  : 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    TOE    BOYNE.  369 

"  My  father  lived  beside  the  Tyne, 
A  wealthy  lord  was  he, 
And  all  his  wealth  was  mark'd  as  mine, 
He  had  but  only  me." 

"  And,  of  course, 

"  Among  th^  rest  young  Edwin  bow'd." 

And  she  bowed  to  Melville  with  something  like  the 
■portive  grace  that  had  first  charmed  his  heart. 

Ralph  Melville  smiled,  his  own  old  radiant  smile, 
as  he  replied — "  There  you  are  mistaken,  Lydia  !  I, 
at  least,  bowed  not  there,  nor  yet  '  spoke  of  love.'  " 

"  How,  then,  did  you  win  your  rich  and  lovely 
bride  ?" 

"  That  I  cannot  tell  you ;  unless  it  were  because  I 
did  not  pay  my  court  to  her." 

"  I  do  not  quite  understand  you ;  pray  explain 
yourself." 

"  I  will,  since  you  desire  it,  though  I  had  rather 
not.  You  must  know,  then,  Lydia,  that  the  Signor 
Salvati  himself  proposed  to  me  the  union  with  his 
daughter " 

"  Indeed  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  and  his  motive  will  surprise  you. 
He  broadly  hinted,  too  broadly  as  I  thought,  that  hia 
child,  his  Laura " 

"Loved  you?" 

"That  was  what  he  intimated,  and  so  plainly  that 
I  could  not  choose  but  understand  him.  The  old 
man  seemed  to  suppose  that  I,  too,  had  been  making 
love  to  Laura.  Astounded  as  I  was  what  could  I 
E»y?  what  could  I  do?" 


370  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY   THE    BOYNE. 

"  What  did  you  say  and  do  ?" 

"  For  a  moment  I  scarce  knew  what  to  say,  but 
presently  came  the  recollection  of  your  supposed 
heartlessncss ;  then  I  reflected  that  whilst  you  had 
rejected  all  the  earthly  love  I  had  to  offer,  Laura 
Salvati  had  given  me  hers  unasked,  unsought;  I  knew 
she  was  good,  gentle,  pious,  and  I  resolved  to  make 
her  my  wife,  trusting  that  the  love  I  could  not  feel 
then  would  come  in  time." 

There  was  a  quick  decision  about  his  way  of  telling 
all  this,  a  business-like  sort  of  dispatch  that  no  other 
but  Lydia  Ackland  could  have  understood,  It  told 
her  plainer  than  words  could  have  done  that  his  heart 
was  not  interested  in  the  matter  of  which  he  spoke, 
only  his  reason  and  his  judgment. 

"  Oh  Ralph  !"  she  could  not  help  saying,  and  she 
bowed  her  head  on  her  hands.  Melville  was  silent 
for  a  few  moments,  then  he  said  : 

"Lydia!  I  speak  of  what  is  long  past;  hear  me 
patiently,  I  have  little  more  to  tell."  He  went  on 
in  the  same  quick  way  :  "  I  married  Laura;  we  lived 
with  her  father  till  the  old  man's  death,  some  five 
years  after  our  marriage,  when  Giacomo  was  four 
years  old,  and  Maddalena  two.  Soon  after  that,  my 
gentle  wife  began  to  droop  and  fade  away  like  a 
blighted  flower,  and  so  she  drooped  and  faded  till  she 
died,  although  that  was  not  for  some  four  or  five 
years  later.  During  all  that  long  time  her  health 
was  broken,  her  frame  enfeebled,  and  nothing  could 
rouse  her  from  the  languor  that  had  gradually  be. 


THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE.         371 

oumbed  her  faculties.  She  had  never  been  lively  or 
animated,  but  always  rather  inclined  to  melancholy, 
and  for  the  last  years  of  her  life  a  veil  seemed  to  be 
drawn  between  her  and  this  nether  world,  husband, 
children,  all,  included  ;  she  devoted  herself  to  God,  in 
Him  lived,  and  so  died,  admired,  respected,  revered 
even  by  those  most  nearly  connected  with  her  in  life, 
but  leaving  no  aching  void  in  the  heart  such  as  a 
more  variable  and  impulsive  nature,  made  up  of  cloud 
and  sunshine,  is  wont  to  leave  behind  it  when  it  bids 
farewell  to  earth.  I  had  nothing  to  reproach  myself 
with  in  regard  to  my  poor  Laura ;  I  had  endeavored 
to  forget,  whilst  she  was  my  wife,  that  I  had  loved 
mother  ear'ier  and  dearer,  one  that  could  have  been 
to  me  what  she  could  never  be, — harsh  word  of  mine, 
•or  angry  look,  had  never  wounded  her  gentle 
vmrt, — so  I  said  to  myself  in  thankfulness  to  Heaven 
allien  I  laid  her  in  her  father's  grave.  I  then  devoted 
myself  to  the  education  of  my  children  and  the  care 
»f  my  affairs,  till,  with  Heaven's  good  aid,  I  was  en- 
abled to  retire  from  business  about  two  years  since, 
iind  enjoy  the  repose  that  is  so  sweet  after  years  of 
assiduous  and  unremitting  application.' 

He  paused,  but  Miss  Ackland  remaining  silent,  he 
resumed :  "  Little  remains  for  me  to  tell,  though, 
perhaps,  the  most  important  of  all — to  myself,  at 
least.  You  must  imagine,  for  I  shall  not  attempt  to 
describe  the  feelings  with  which  I  heard  of  the 
strange  chance  that  had  thrown  my  dear  son  on  your 
kindness  and  charity;  of  all  you  did  for  him;  how  I 


372        THE  OLD  HOUSE  BY  THE  BOYNE. 

marked  the  grateful  affection  he  cherished  towards 
you.  Shall  I  tell  you  that  it  rather  displeased  me  at 
the  time,  and  that  I  could  not  feel  towards  you  the 
same  gratitude  I  would  have  felt  towards  any  othei 
in  similar  circumstances  ?" 

"  I  do  not  wonder  at  that  now,  Ralph  !"  said  Miss 
Ackland  gently,  "  although  I  did  then,  for  I  saw  it 
plainly  at  the  time,  and  was  disposed  to  regard  you 
as  a  reasonably  cold-hearted  man." 

Melville  smiled,  took  her  hand  in  his,  and  went  on: 
"  It  were  superfluous  to  tell  you  the  little  minute  cir- 
cumstances that,  related  by  Giacomo  from  lime  to 
time,  awoke  in  my  mind  the  idea  that  I,  or  you, 
might,  after  all,  have  been  mistaken — that  you  did 
love  me.  Certainty  came  at  length,  after  Guy's  in- 
terview with  you ;  you  may  remember  that  it  was 
very  soon  after  that,  Maddalena  came  to  you.  I 
wished  to  make  her  love  you,  as  her  brother  already 
loved  you,  and  knowing  now  that  both  my  children 
love  you,  I  have  come  myself  to  ask  you  to  be  my 
wife,  and  their  mother.  I  know  you  love  me,  my 
heart  tells  me  that  you  do ;  how  I  love  you,  I  need 
not  tell  you.  It  is  true,  the  summer  of  our  life  is 
past,  but  shall  we  not  spend  the  tranquil  autumn  to- 
gether, and,  if  God  so  wills  it,  the  winter  of  our  age, 
consoling,  strengthening  each  other,  bearing  each 
other's  burdens,  and  walking  hand  in  hand  to  the 
tomb,  then  only  to  part  that  we  may  meet  again  be- 
fore the  throne  of  God  to  inhabit  forever  the  eternal 
mansions  ?     Say,  Lydia  !  shall  it  not  be  so  ?" 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  373 

Miss  Ackland  laid  her  hand  in  his,  and  said  with 
that  smile  which  had  been,  and  was  even  now,  the 
sunshine  of  Melville's  heart : 

"I  am  old  now  to  be  a  bride,"  said- she,  "but  if 
y  u  are  content  to  take  me  as  I  am,  then  surely  1 
may  be.  But  I  can  hardly  realize  it  to  myself  that 
you  aie  here  beside  me  in  very  deed,  that  I  am 
still  to  be  your  wife!  Oh  Ralph!  how  can  I  be- 
lieve it  ?M 

It  is  possible  that  Mr.  Melville  succeeded  in  con- 
vincing her,  for  when  they  joined  the  young  people 
at  supper  a  few  minutes  after,  they  all  declared  that 
she  looked  ten  years  younger,  and  Rose,  in  her  arch 
way,  complimented  "  the  dear  Captain,  as  Nancy  used 
to  call  him,"  on  the  wonderful  f  culty  he  possessed 
of  conjuring  up  smiles  and  blushes. 

11 1  am  happy  to  know,  then,  that  the  faculty  is 
hereditary,"  said  Melville  smiling,  and  glancing  at  his 
son  in  a  way  that  covered  Rose's  face  with  blushes. 
"  Ha !  ha  !  Miss  Rose,  I  see  you  understand  me  ! — ■ 
Will  you  pardon  me  if  I  quote  an  old  proverb  to  you, 
viz.,  that  those  %oho  live  in  houses  of  glass  slt/juld  not 
throw  stones.     Now  for  supper,  Lyclia  ! ' 

Next  day  Miss  Ackland  and  Mr.  Melville  went  to 
pay  their  proposed  visit  to  Mabel.  Overjoyed  as  the 
old  woman  was  to  see  "t;ie  Captain,"  she  was  not 
so  siirprised  as  might  have  been  expected.  In  the 
strange  hallucinations  to  which  her  mind  was  subject, 
Bhe  had  long  cherished  a  dreamy  sort  of  half  convic- 
tion that  he  was  alive,  and  would  some  day  return ; 


374  THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOTNE. 

Bhe  had,  from  the  first,  associated  Giacomo  and  hia 
in  her  mind,  and  not  seldom  confounded  one  with 
the  other.  But  tli3  joy  was  too  much  for  her  worn- 
out  frame ;  that  night  she  died,  thanking  "  God  and 
the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary  that  she  had  lived  to  see 
Miss  Lyddy  happy." 

The  astonishment  of  those  who  had  known  Cap 
tain  Melville,  and  lamented  his  supposed  death,  may 
well  be  imagined.  Major  Melville  was  one  of  Miss 
Ackland's  first  visitors  on  the  following  day;  he  came 
with  his  brother  who  had  paid  him  an  early  visit  at 
Millmount  that  morning.  Guy  was  very  sincere  in 
his  congratulations,  for,  during  his  short  acquaint- 
ance with  Miss  Ackland,  he  had  learned  to  love  her 
''It  was  well  for  me,"  he  added,  with  a  smile,  "  that 
i"  knew  Ralph  was  still  alive,  although  you  did  not; 
else  I  might  have  loved  you  too  well  for  my  own 
peace.  Now  I  can  truly  say  that  I  already  love  you 
as  a  sister,  and  shall  be  happy  to  see  you  the  wife  of 
my  dear,  my  only  brother.  But  unless  I  am  much 
mistaken  we  shall  have  some  other  weddings  in  or 
about  the  same  time."  And  he  looked  at  Giacomo 
and  Rose,  to  the  great  confusion  of  the  latter. 

"  I  assure  you  it  wTill  not  be  my  fault,  uncle,  if  you 
do  not,"  said  Giacomo,  "  that  is  if  my  father,  Miss 
Ackland,  and  one  other  will  consent." 

Of  course  his  father  and  Miss  Ackland  were  but 
too  happy  to  consent,  and  the  one  other  made  no  very 
great  objection.     So  then  and  there  the  matter  was 


THE    OLD    HOUSE    BY    THE    BOYNE.  375 

arranged,  only  Rose,  from  some  fancy  of  her  own, 
would  have  it  postponed  till  the  early  Spring. 

The  second  week  of  November  saw  the  quiet  but 
happy  union  of  Ralph  Melville  and  Lydia  Ackland 
solemnized  by  Father  O'Regan ;  the  school  had  been 
given  up  from  the  very  day  after  the  arrival  of  the 
former.  They  went  on  a  short  tour  and  returned  in 
a  few  days,  as  they  were  all  to  remain  in  Drogheda 
till  after  Rose's  marriage,  then  go  all  together  to 
reside  in  Leghorn,  at  least  for  a  while.  By  the  time 
appointed  for  the  union  of  Giacomo  and  Rose,  Captain 
Cornell  had  persuaded  Maddalena  to  give  him  her 
hand  at  the  same  time  and  in  the  same  place.  Early 
in  the  winter,  the  tvvTo  Brodigan  sisters  "  were  led  to 
the  altar,"  as  the  newspapers  phrase  it,  by  Cueack 
and  Ternan,  and  who  can  doubt  that  they  were  all 
very  happy.  At  le.ist,  if  they  were  not,  that  you  and 
I  may,  (courteous  readers,)  as  the  old  story-tellers 
have  it ! 


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